


Slaves To Circumstance

by KeyPea



Category: The Eagle | The Eagle of the Ninth (2011)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Happy Ending, M/M, Military Backstory, Ownership, Pole Dancing, Rape/Non-con Elements, Violence, badass!Esca, badass!Marcus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-02
Updated: 2014-09-05
Packaged: 2018-01-21 16:17:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 38,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1556525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KeyPea/pseuds/KeyPea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Present-day AU. Marcus is a wounded soldier looking to rebuild his life without knowing what direction it will take when he meets Esca at a strip club. Their backgrounds couldn't be more different, but Marcus is compelled to make Esca his project when it becomes clear that something sinister lurks beneath his circumstances.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> If you're looking for light fluff, you won't find it here. Without wishing to spoil anything - most archive warnings apply.
> 
> I stand by believing the difficult stories (both to write and read) are the most rewarding ones.

Marcus Aquila shuffled his feet to keep the blood flowing as he waited in line to the Eagles Club, wondering what sort of establishment it was that required him to wear a suit. He was half-heartedly thinking of making a run for it, but there were barriers, and anyway, he’d grudgingly consented to the trip out tonight to make his uncle happy. His uncle was older than he looked, but he’d still got a twinkle in his eye and fun in his heart, and he’d practically pushed Marcus out to the place after many weeks of moping about inside.

The cold outside made his injured leg ache and Marcus sighed, reminded again of why he was there in the first place. He’d been a soldier in the army until as soon as 3 months ago, when he’d taken a bullet in the leg during a rescue mission he’d led to save his comrades. He’d saved nearly every one of them but been forced, at the brink of death himself, to retire from service with naught but a medal to commemorate his victory. As he had no immediate family left and couldn’t face living in an empty house all alone, he’d asked to be sent to his uncle, who was only too happy to keep him, having no children of his own.

As soon as they’d reached the door, his uncle handed over a roll of money. “Have fun,” he said, with a wide grin, ducking under the ropes.

“Wait, where are you going?” Marcus replied, suddenly suspicious. “What kind of club is this?!”

“Just trust me. Ring me if you want picking up.”

He was gone, disappeared into the night, leaving Marcus grimacing and pulling at his tie, which felt too tight, as he was ushered into the club. It was too late to back out now. He could hear music with a steady beat playing, but it wasn’t too loud, definitely not loud enough to be a typical nightclub. He took a minute to adjust to the darkness inside, until he could make out the layout of the place, which seemed to be circular and on split levels, almost like a theatre, or he thought, an arena, though a very plush one, with deep wine-coloured walls and orange wall sconces providing light.

A large stage took up most of the room on the lower level, with a rail and a few scattered seats around it. The middle level, the one he had entered on, had many more tables and chairs, and a long semicircular bar sweeping around the back walls. Marcus couldn’t see what was upstairs from his vantage point, and moved forwards to a gap in the tables and chairs to get a closer look at the different levels.

“That bastard,” Marcus shook his head as he saw what was on stage, but he couldn’t stop a grin stretching his features, thinking this might have been just what he needed. His uncle had lured him to a gay strip club, judging by the half-clothed men swinging around poles on the stage. So, kindly William Aquila knew, then. Had seen how little interest Marcus had in women, but how he’d straighten up in interest when a particularly attractive specimen of a man walked by, or talk animatedly about his military ‘friends’. Perhaps he’d even seen Marcus’ internet history, he mused with a grimace. Marcus thought he’d been subtle, but he’d obviously have to cover his tracks more carefully in future.

He skirted around the edge of the club and ordered a drink from the bar, taking it to a seat on the same level where he could observe everything that went on, but could be easily uninvolved and ignored by passers-by. Gracing the main stage at the moment was a collection of different sized men in various states of undress flaunting their wares and pacing up and down in time to the music. A gaggle of admirers were crowded around the stage, some passing up folded notes, some sitting back and enjoying whomever they’d fixed their eyes on.  

Other employees, seen but unseen, worked their way around the floor, some carrying trays from the bar, others giving more personal attention to clients. Marcus let his gaze wander over everything, and put his hand in his pocket and turned off his phone so there would be no distractions.

There was a lull on the lower level as the men left the stage and the crowd thinned considerably, some settling into seats for what would come next and some moving back up to bar. For a while there was no-one putting on a show, just the music playing and those moving around on the floor. Marcus sipped his drink and soaked up the atmosphere. It was fun, he admitted, but there was an uneasy air about the whole thing, and he could swear he occasionally caught the reek of desperation that reminded him exactly where he was and what the men here were paid to do.

He was distracted from these thoughts as another selection of men took the stage. They were much the same as the last group, enough to grab your attention but nothing remarkable - apart from one. Marcus couldn’t take his eyes away from a small, lean man at the front of the stage with what looked like dark blonde hair- it was hard to tell under the lights. It was also difficult to tell from the distance he was at, but Marcus could have sworn he saw some badly disguised bottle-blue tattoos on the man’s well-toned arm. He was wearing tight cropped pants and a waistcoat with nothing underneath, and he wore them extremely well.

He began to move to the music, and Marcus was so mesmerised he forgot his glass, which was raised halfway to his lips. The man was an incredible dancer, throwing himself into it with a ferocity he’d not seen from anyone else tonight. His movements were defined, deliberate, and each arch and toss of his gorgeous body said a thousand things. Marcus tore his eyes away for a minute to see if anyone else was seeing what he was, but no-one seemed to be paying him as much attention as he was. He couldn’t believe it. Why couldn’t anyone see what was going on in front of them?

Without even knowing what he was doing, Marcus had left his drink, forgotten, on the table, and headed down the steps to the stage. In a daze, he took a seat there and gazed up at the dancer who had captivated him. He was still involved in his athletic performance, as were many others up and down the stage, but Marcus couldn’t tear his eyes away from this man, watching every tremble of his muscles, the barely-concealed tattoos on his straining biceps and the sway of his hips to the beat.

The dancer noticed Marcus’ interest, making eye contact as he mounted the pole in front of him and swung around it, and Marcus swallowed hard, feeling scorched by the blue eyes upon him. It was clear that this small but perfect body held a lot of anger. It wasn’t only his dancing that was furious- it was written all over his face as well, his eyebrows knitted together to form an expression of grim determination that took Marcus’ breath away.

Marcus fumbled in his pocket and passed up some notes from the bundle he’d been given to keep the dancer in front of him- he wasn’t ready to move on yet, still drinking in the aura of the man and the tension he drummed up with every sway of his body. Marcus let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding as the dancer bent to retrieve them, giving him an eyeful of the bare chest under the waistcoat, with a trace of sweat framing his nipples at how had been working. Their fingers skimmed over each other and Marcus fought back a shudder of pure sexual energy, leaning back heavily in his chair, greedily taking in everything the dancer gave to him with that furious body and stare, the club melting away in Marcus’ eyes until it felt like they were the only two people in the world.

Eventually it was time for all the dancers to leave the stage to make way for more and Marcus left reluctantly, stumbling up the stairs to the bar as his senses were overloaded with the atmosphere of the rest of the club rushing back to him. His head spun a little and he clutched the railings to steady himself, feeling stupid for being drawn in and deciding to leave.

Marcus gasped when the cold night air wrapped around him as the doorman opened the door. “Have a good night, sir?”

“Yes, thank you,” Marcus replied. “I’ll probably be back.” Even as the words left his lips, he didn’t really know who he was saying it to, the doorman who was paid to be friendly to patrons or whether he was just saying it to reassure himself. Either way, he knew that after tonight, after making eye contact with that incredible dancer, he wouldn’t be able to rest until he knew everything about him. He’d be back for as many nights as it took.

OOO

Marcus couldn’t sleep that night. Every time he felt himself dropping off, the dancer’s furious eyes swam into his mind and jolted him awake. He’d been angry for sure, not at Marcus perhaps, but angry at his circumstances. Just like Marcus was angry at his, the wounded war hero trapped at his uncle’s place, which was perhaps why he’d been so drawn to the dancer. Other patrons at the club were put off by the raw, primal energy of his dancing. They wanted fantasy, not reality, but Marcus wasn’t naive enough to have any delusions that the men paid to dance were interested in anything more than the flow of cash. He balled his hands into fists in his covers at he played scenarios out in his mind, but when his imagination slipped into dreams, he was still a paying customer, just like all the rest of them.


	2. Two

The next night Marcus’ feet led him to the club without even consciously thinking about it. Uncle Aquila hadn’t asked him where he was going, and Marcus was glad. It was only when he was seated at the stage in the club with a drink he wondered what the hell he was doing there- that is, until his dancer took the stage. A small flicker of recognition crossed his face, but unless you’d been staring at him as intently as Marcus had, it would have been easily missed. His dancing was as primal and powerful as it had been the previous night, and again it left Marcus staggering from the club in a daze, as if he’d lost part of himself in there.

It set the tone for the rest of the week. During the day, Marcus would wonder why on earth he’d spent so much time and money at the club the night before, but when darkness fell Marcus would be back sitting in front of ‘his’ dancer and him only, drinking in the way he moved, revelling in the athletic power of his skinny frame, and being completely intoxicated by his rage.

On the Friday night, Marcus entered the club to see his dancer leaving the stage, and couldn’t help a wave of disappointment crash through him. He couldn’t very well just leave, so he ordered a drink to be delivered and took a seat on the middle level. He was staring glumly at the table when he was aware of his drink arriving and a soft voice saying,

“I haven’t much time.”

Marcus looked up in surprise to meet the calculating glare of his dancer carrying a tray, who landed his drink on the table and leaned in. “I want you to tell me, why me?”

“Sorry?” Marcus was puzzled.

“You’ve not set eyes on anyone else all week, I’ve seen you. Why me?”

Marcus was stunned. All articulate thoughts left his head and he scrambled around for something to respond with that wouldn’t make him sound totally stupid.

“Your dances,” he said finally. “They’re full of fury, and they captivate me.” The dancer’s eyebrows raised, but still he blundered on. “I understand. I understand why.”

“And what do you think you understand about me?” He hissed, looking around as if he were scared someone was listening to them.

Marcus regarded him for a long minute until he replied softly, “we are both slaves to our circumstances.”

He drained his drink in a gulp and set it back on the table. The dancer had physically balked at the word ‘slaves’ and was now looking vulnerable and exposed instead of the usual cold and collected stare he wore on his face.

“What’s your name?” Marcus asked.

“Alexander.”

“I don’t believe you,” Marcus replied flatly.

“Well I don’t quite trust you,” the dancer hissed.

“I’m Marcus, in case you wanted to know. And you have no reason not to trust me.”

“No-one is captivated by me,” the dancer told him firmly. “No-one.” He pasted an angry look on his face, slammed Marcus’ glass back onto the tray and stormed from the table in a fine rage. Had he intended to dampen Marcus’ enthusiasm, he’d quite failed, since that little display had done quite the opposite. Marcus stared after him, more curious and more determined than ever.

OOO

Weekends the club pulled in more customers than in the week, which meant less one-to-one attention, but this didn’t bother Marcus too much. He’d attracted the attention of his dancer, and he was determined to find out more about him the next week. He used the opportunity to sleep in late, and his uncle wanted to go into the town centre to buy a few things. Marcus threw on his army camos more out of habit than anything else, though he toned down the effect of the pants with a plain black jacket and reluctantly grabbed his walking crutch, as he often had to use it if he was walking around a lot. His injured leg still wasn’t very strong.

They’d been to lunch and were making their way up the high street, William Aquila being patient with Marcus who was using his crutch as they walked, the cold affecting his leg, when Marcus stopped dead in the street.

“What is it Marcus?” His uncle asked. “Is it cramping again?”

“No, it’s not that,” He replied, surprise creeping into his voice. His eyes were fixed up the street, where a slight young man with dark blonde hair was leaning outside a shop, huddled in a hooded jumper. His head was tilted back and his eyes were closed. As far as uncle Aquila could see, there was nothing remarkable about the man, but Marcus was now hobbling over to him as fast as he could. William Aquila wisely decided to stay where he was.

Marcus could feel his heart pounding in his chest as he called, “Alexander?” He stopped before he reached the man, afraid he’d gone mad and completely mistaken him for someone else, but he was sure he’d recognise that body anywhere after seeing it flaunted in front of him for a week, baggy jumper or not. He called again, more hesitantly, “Alexander?”

The man’s eyes snapped open and Marcus saw the shock register on his face as he placed him.

“Marcus?” He asked, just as hesitantly. “From the Eagles Club?”

“The same,” Marcus replied stiffly, leaning on his stick and getting the impression that the man wasn’t at all pleased to see him. He saw the dancer’s eyes travel his length, taking in the camo, the stick, and the older man waiting down the street who was pretending to be fascinated by a shop window. Marcus had never taken his stick to the club, and he’d always been wearing a suit.

“Slaves to our circumstances,” Alexander murmured, nodding almost imperceptibly as if he finally understood. Then he quickly looked about him with a terrified look on his face. He told Marcus,

“I shouldn’t talk to you.”

Marcus raised an eyebrow. “Disgruntled lover in there?” He jerked his head at the shop.

“God no,” Alexander snorted, looking and sounding a little more like the man Marcus had first seen, before he dropped his voice almost to a whisper. “Someone far worse. Please, you shouldn’t be seen with me, for both our sakes.” He fidgeted and stole an anxious glance at the shop door, looking for all the world like a child about to be caught by his parents for sneaking sweets.

Marcus frowned as realisation dawned on him. He’d seen similar behaviour before, in the army, from men who’d been on the receiving end of those corrupted by power. “You’re ruled with an iron fist, aren’t you?” He asked.

“You can’t help,” Alexander’s eyes were pleading now. “Please, forget me.”

Instead Marcus fumbled in his pockets and wrote down his phone number on a scrap of paper. “I never do this,” Marcus told him truthfully, forcing Alexander to take the paper. “But there’s something about you, I can’t quite put my finger on it.”

“I might not be able to phone you,” Alexander warned. “I don’t have my own phone.”

“I won’t give up.”

He was walking away when he heard a sharp voice, commanding “come along Alexander. What did that man want?” It took every ounce of self-control he had not to turn around and give the game away as he made his painstaking way back to his uncle.

“He just thought I’d dropped something,” he heard Alexander lie casually as they moved out of earshot. When Marcus caught up with his uncle, he risked a glance backwards. Alexander was being hustled away in the opposite direction by a hard-looking man dressed in an obviously tailored suit. Marcus frowned; he couldn’t see the man’s face, just his groomed black hair, but he carried a thin wooden cane in one hand, and in the other he was holding the dancer’s upper arm in a vice-like grip.

OOO

Marcus was jolted awake that night by his phone bleeping on the table, just as he was dropping off. It was a text message from an unfamiliar number, naming a cafe. ‘1pm. I hope my trust isn’t misplaced.’ Marcus sighed and felt a weight lift off his chest slightly. He’d been going over what he’d done all day, wondering if he’d been the stupidest man in the world to try to save a stripper who could just as well be leading him on a merry chase.  When the text came through he bit his lip in worry at what Alexander must have risked to send the message, if he’d been under the control of the hard-looking man, and set his alarm extra early to make sure he didn’t miss his chance.


	3. Three

Marcus was in the cafe by 12.30 pm, draining a coffee in 30 seconds flat and tapping his leg impatiently, barely aware of the ache it was giving him. The clock crawled to 1pm, then quarter past. Marcus was beginning to think he’d been stood up when the dancer rushed through the door, looking anxiously around the crowded cafe for him. Marcus struggled up and he saw relief cross the dancer’s face.

“Sit, I’ll get drinks,” Marcus offered. He returned with two more coffees, setting them on the table as he said nervously, “I can’t tell you how glad I am you came.”

“I can’t believe I’m here,” Alexander replied as Marcus sat down opposite him. He glanced around- the cafe was still busy, meaning they could talk freely. They sipped their coffees in silence for a few minutes, until Alexander cleared his throat. “So, you’re a soldier.”

“Was,” Marcus corrected. “Three months ago I was shot in the leg and discharged,” he sighed. “I’m pretty much useless at the minute as you saw, so I’ve come to live with my uncle.”

“I don’t think you’re useless. I think you’re a lot more than that,” the dancer said shortly. “How is your leg?” He followed hesitantly, as if they were old friends rather than a dancer at a strip club and his customer, meeting for the first time outside of those confines.

“It’ll heal,” Marcus replied dismissively, fixing his gaze firmly on Alexander. “I imagine you’re a lot more than a dancer, just as I was a lot more than a soldier.”

“Then you’d be wrong,” Alexander said hollowly. Marcus waited for more, and he sighed. “It’s complicated.”

“You can start with your real name.”

Alexander glared back at him, and for several minutes they each battled to stare the other down. Marcus held the eye contact steadily; defeated, the dancer blinked.

“Esca.”

Marcus nodded. Now they were getting somewhere. “Esca. You answered my question, so I imagine you have one of your own?”

“Why me?” He blurted out.

“I’ve told you. The rage is written all over your face as you dance. It’s evident in every move you make, and it caught my eye instantly. I’ve seen the same expression on the faces of the men I’ve fought alongside; you’re wrong about being just a dancer. You’re a warrior.”

A flicker of surprise crossed Esca’s face, but Marcus could tell it was a thought that had crossed his own mind more than once. Perhaps that thought was responsible for the mask of fury he wore when dancing. The dance was a battle but his customers were not his oppressors. Something or someone else was the enemy, someone Esca was determined to win his war against. Marcus’ thoughts ran to the man gripping Esca’s arm yesterday. He was involved somehow, Marcus was convinced of it, and Esca had already confirmed he wasn’t his lover.

“I can see those cogs turning in your head,” Esca said flatly, “and I’m not sure I like it.”

“Because you don’t want to let me get close, you won’t accept my help with whatever situation you’re in,” Marcus mused.

“No, because you _can’t_ help,” Esca replied exasperatedly. “I climb up on that stage, shake my arse and swing around a pole, occasionally work the floor to bring the arse-grabbers their drinks, or worse if they pay enough to take me upstairs, and for what? Absolutely no-one cares about me. Don’t you think I’d get out if I could?!”

“Of course you can leave, you must earn hundreds a night,” Marcus frowned, but as soon as the words were out of his mouth, the puzzle pieces began to fit together in his head. The stern man who’d grabbed Esca’s arm, the plush club on the outskirts of town, Esca’s furious dances.

“That man,” Marcus began, slopping coffee over the table in his excitement at working it all out as he leaned over to place his hands in front of Esca’s. “He owns you, doesn’t he? My God, he OWNS YOU?!” He half-shouted the last bit in outrage, attracting glances from nearby tables.

“Shit, keep your voice down!” Esca warned, grabbing his hand to quieten him down. Marcus was stunned, his eyes widening when Esca did not even try to deny Marcus’ conclusions. He opened and closed his mouth idiotically, hardly knowing what to say. “The police...” he suggested wildly, but trailed off when he realised Esca must have been down this route before.

“He’s got the world in his pocket! He’s untouchable! Now you see?” Esca asked in a fierce whisper. “Now you see why no-one can help? I can’t bring you into this.” He abruptly pushed away from the table and stood. “I’ve been away too long,” he said fearfully, “I’ll be missed. I have to go.”

Marcus snatched at his hands to keep him one more minute. “I will not give up on you, Esca,” He said determinedly.

By way of answering, Esca brought Marcus’ hands up to his lips as if he were going to brush a fleeting kiss across them, almost as if he thought he might never get another opportunity to, but just squeezed them gently before dropping them. The door to the cafe banged open and closed, and he was gone as abruptly as he has arrived.

OOO

William Aquila wasn’t stupid, or at least he wasn’t as slow as his nephew. He’d seen Marcus going out every night in his suit, and then when they’d bumped into the skinny young man outside the shop who’d been scared out of his wits, he’d put two and two together. In encouraging Marcus to get out more, and taking him to the Eagles Club in the first place, he felt somewhat responsible for this latest development.

Marcus had brought a laptop with him when he moved in, and William Aquila now used it to dig up everything he could on the club’s owner, which admittedly wasn’t much. A man with as much money as he had could cover his tracks quite well, and his investments were many and varied. He had obviously taken great pains to protect his assets, one of which may well have been the skinny man Marcus was so interested in. He placed the few pages of research where Marcus could find them and left it at that, biting back any opinions of his own, knowing his own past wasn’t exactly black and white. He’d never judged Marcus for anything, and he wasn’t about to start now.

When William Aquila saw Marcus ironing a shirt on Monday evening, all he said was “be careful.”

It was a warning loaded with meaning, and Marcus heeded it, reigning in his fury before leaving the house. Sometimes he’d wished Uncle Aquila would shake him and tell him not to be so stupid- every man wants to save the stripper dancing in front of him, but it rarely worked out that way. Instead, here was his Uncle wishing them both luck without actually saying those words, and on this evening, Marcus was going to need it...


	4. Four

Marcus was content to take a seat away from the stage, in a booth off to the edge of the lower floor. It was more private so he would attract less attention and could avoid the club’s owner – and Esca’s owner, he had thought with a sickening lurch. As he mused over ownership Marcus balled his hands into fists, only relaxing when ‘Alexander’ took the stage. He hadn’t expected Marcus to sit at the front, so he gazed around until he clocked where he was sitting and a small flicker of hope had crossed his face. A hot blush spread across Marcus’ cheeks as he thought about how many other men were going to watch Esca dance and probably get off on it. This time was different for Marcus. Now they’d spoken and he’d vowed his help, Esca felt like _his_.

Esca had no such nerves and his features had reverted to his usual stony glare as he threw himself into a routine. Marcus, watching discreetly from the booth, noted he danced with an even greater ferocity than the first night he’d seen him, roughly handling the pole as a prop to move from one side of the stage to the other but not engaging it in any more strenuous activity than that, as he had done before when he’d contorted himself around it in eye-watering poses.

The more Marcus watched, he became convinced that he could see a shadow on the side of Esca’s face, and the further a frown spread across his own. He barely resisted the impulse to immediately go and fetch the dancer off the stage, instead waiting until he’d started his shift on the floor.

‘Alexander’ walked past Marcus’ booth with a tray of drinks and deliberately did not look at him or say anything, but Marcus was now almost certain that the shadow on his face was a makeup-covered bruise. When he walked back again with no tray, Marcus grabbed the dancer’s shoulder and half-dragged him into the booth, hissing “Esca, what the fuck has happened to your face?!”

He did not expect Esca to give a yelp of pain where Marcus had grabbed him, so of course he immediately let go, immensely suspicious about the dancer wearing a long-sleeved shirt tonight, firmly buttoned, instead of the waistcoat that had graced his lean body the previous week. “I know you get bruises from the pole, but you don’t usually take such measures to cover them. Let me see,” Marcus said in a hushed tone.

“If you want to undress me, _he’ll_ expect you to pay me for it,” Esca replied flatly, so Marcus slapped some notes on the table and settled himself back in his chair.

“Then you’re going to give me a dance, and we’re going to talk about your face and shoulder.”

Esca dutifully moved closer- to any watching eye there was nothing to suggest they were doing anything other than going through the motions of what Marcus had paid for. He began a slow sway of his hips and told him, through gritted teeth, “The boss gave me a black eye for my trouble yesterday.”

Marcus raised an eyebrow, partly at the casual abuse Esca had endured, and endured on Marcus’ behalf that he spoke so candidly about now, and partly because the body being flaunted in front of him was undeniably sexy. Marcus was still a man.

“Did he give you anything else?” Marcus asked, struggling to keep his voice even.

“Oh, you don’t want to know,” Esca muttered darkly, giving a hollow laugh. He began a small striptease, unbuttoning the top few buttons of his shirt and very quickly sliding it off his shoulder and back again, giving Marcus enough time to see the hand-shaped bruises there. 

“I’ll fucking kill him,” Marcus promised, his fists clenching again as he gripped the arms of the chair hard enough to leave nail marks that nearly matched the ones in the beautiful skin in front of him. Hard enough to take his mind off wanting to go and find Esca’s owner right that second and throttle him.

“Not if I get there first,” Esca replied calmly. “There’s more you can’t see.” Marcus knew he meant more than physical bruises as well, and felt Esca instinctively stand closer to him until he could feel the comforting radiation of his body heat, beginning to trust him. As he swayed, more a lap dance now than a display, Marcus asked in a strangled voice,

“What’s the rules on touching?”

“Why do you ask?” Esca smirked, glad to be off the subject of his bruises for the moment.

 “I think your body is beautiful,” Marcus told him unabashedly. His hands twitched upon the arms of the chair, wanting more than anything to be resting upon Esca’s hips as he danced. Something below that twitched as well. “Any man would find it difficult to have such an attractive form dangled in front of him and not be allowed to enjoy it.” He smiled up at Esca and nearly got lost in the depths of his eyes, which held his gaze steadily, anger now gone from the equation to be replaced with what could only be pure _lust_.

“Who says you aren’t allowed to enjoy it?” Esca murmured, so close to Marcus’ lips he could have sworn they’d touch if they were any closer.

“Oh, but I am enjoying it,” Marcus whispered back, “which is why I asked about the touching.”

“Pitching a tent-pole are we?”

“I’d say you’re helping it along pretty well,” Marcus replied, shifting his legs a little to make room in his pants.

“Then by all means, get what you paid for,” Esca purred, guiding Marcus’ hands to his hips and slowly rotating so he could admire the rear view, which was just as impressive as the front. They did not speak again for a good while, both engrossed in the task at hand, Esca dancing, albeit clothed, and Marcus watching greedily, taking it all in and feeling that sliding feeling of utter captivation he felt whenever he’d watched Esca dance.

Esca occasionally linked hands with Marcus as he gyrated his hips, sliding between Marcus’ thighs, teasing mercilessly, but Marcus did not let his hands stray further than Esca’s waist or hips, despite the pounding of his heart or the rush of blood to regions further south that were protesting otherwise.

By the end of the impromptu clothed lap-dance, Marcus was good and ready to rescue Esca from his prison simply because he wanted him fiercely, and gone were any noble thoughts about helping a comrade. Esca had leaned in dangerously close and almost brushed his lips across Marcus’, but Marcus had stopped him with a finger over them.

“When I kiss you, it won’t be in the club where you’re held prisoner, and I won’t be paying for it,” He promised.

He’d left Esca that night with promises to return, help him escape and build a new life; whether Esca believed them was another matter entirely.

When Marcus finally collapsed into bed, the dance still playing over and over in his mind, he couldn’t think of a time in his life when he’d ever wanted anyone in his bed more.


	5. Five

Esca shrugged his shoulders to try to stretch out his muscles and ease his pain as he made his way downstairs to the living quarters in the basement. He’d been particularly wound up tonight, getting sick of the increasingly overbearing presence of his boss, who always seemed to be watching him out of the corner of his eye. He had taken his emotions out on the pole, and now he was suffering for it. Marcus hadn’t been in to see him tonight, but Esca had figured out the pattern by now- he’d come in every couple of nights to check up on his favourite dancer, whilst he figured out what to do. Sometimes they got the chance to talk, sometimes they didn’t, but Marcus always managed to let him know that he’d not given up.

There were some other dancers milling around in the basement, most were cleaning up at the end of their shifts, hanging up various skimpy outfits and changing into more comfortable ‘civilian clothes’; but some were getting ready to go back out for the final part of the night, to wring the last notes they could out of customers willing to pay for private dances by flirting outrageously as they served up last orders.

Esca did not talk to any of them as he crossed to his bunk to fetch his towel for a hot shower. His circumstances were different to a lot of the other dancers- they weren’t forced to be here, and did the job for the money. Sometimes others stayed the night because they had nowhere else to go, but they weren’t _owned_ in the same way as he was. He was sure that the boss could dig up some dirt on them if he so desired, but for now he seemed content to keep only Esca as his slave. All the money Esca made went straight into the boss’ pocket, and he’d never had anyone take much notice of him until Marcus. He shuddered, the way he always did when his mind lingered on this subject, and grabbed his shower things quickly.

When he got back into the room, had it not been obvious from the lack of sound upstairs that the club had closed, then it would have been obvious by the amount of dancers gathering in the room. Esca quickly went and shoved on a t-shirt and some flannel sleeping trousers, knowing that the boss would be coming downstairs at any second to give them their end of evening pep-talk or telling off, depending on the mood he was in and how much money they had raked in. He wasn’t wrong.

In came the hard-faced man, tonight wearing an impeccable gray suit with a pink handkerchief peeping from the pocket that had probably been paid for out of Esca’s earnings. He’d been to the barbers again, and his oiled black hair sat neatly on top of his head, with his styled facial hair emphasising stern cheekbones. Tonight, he wasn’t alone, and Esca had to struggle to keep his features neutral as he saw he was steering a new boy into the room by his shoulders. Boy, not man, as the kid couldn’t be any older than 18, and he looked utterly terrified. It was immediately clear from the way he was being shoved that he had not taken the job of his own free will. Esca balled his hands into fists, and couldn’t help but spit out the suddenly sour taste in his mouth onto the cold concrete floor.  

The man scowled at Esca but let it slide, instead pushing the kid to the centre of the room. “Got some new blood for the club,” he announced to the group. His silky, flirtatious voice made Esca wish he could spit again, but instead he just glared. The boss glanced over at Esca to see his glare. “Oh Alexander, this one is _mine_ , just like you are, and don’t you be forgetting that.” He smiled nastily and Esca hissed through gritted teeth.

“Might I remind you all of the clause in your contracts to keep your filthy mouths closed on this subject?” He addressed everyone else, raising a manicured eyebrow, before he turned on one polished heel and strutted from the room. The kid he’d left behind was standing perfectly still in the centre of the room, looking at his feet as if he wished no-one would notice him.

Esca felt something pull in his chest as he saw the vulnerability in the pose, reminding him of himself, and he caught sight of some of the other dancers muttering amongst themselves, some giving calculating looks at the new kid invading their territory, as if they were wolves and the boy prey. Esca stepped forward protectively and stared every one of them in the face until they backed down, deciding better of dragging the kid into some obscene initiation. They would either be paid handsomely or threatened for their silence on the boss’ latest pet, depending on how corruptible they were, and that wasn’t worth risking.

The boy was about the same height as him or maybe a little taller, considering Esca had a small frame, but the kid was far skinnier, looking like he’d not had a decent meal for weeks. Esca held out his hand as the others lost interest and continued with whatever task they had been engrossed in before their manager’s arrival.

“Come with me, I’ll help you,” Esca kindly encouraged him.

“Thanks,” the boy stammered, looking eternally grateful that someone was taking care of him. He followed Esca over to the side of the room. “When the boss said we were both his, did he mean...?” He trailed off.

“I’m afraid so. We aren’t allowed to leave.” He nodded.

“He’s awful,” the boy groaned, holding a hand over his mouth. “Is there no way to stop him?”

Esca lowered his voice in case any of the others were listening. “He’s so corrupt that anyone you could tell has already been paid off by him. He owns half the world as well as us.” He didn’t say any more about it as he could see it was a lot for the boy to take in. He was obviously new to this game, but it was impossible to tell what sort of situation he had been snatched away from. “What’s your name?” Esca asked instead.

“Jack.”

“I’m Esca. Only _he_ calls me by that other name.” He patted the top bunk in the same frame as him. “You might as well go ahead and take this one, Jack,” he requested, “I don’t have a bunk-mate. Do you have any belongings?”

“Just a few clothes.”

“I’ll find you the rest then, and you’ll be given clothes to wear on stage.”

“Thanks for helping me, Esca.”

“If you need anything, you come to me. We have to stick together.”

OOO

A week had passed and still Jack came downstairs every night looking utterly drained. He hadn’t danced yet or been up to the top floor where heavy velvet curtains sectioned off the private booths. He’d just acted as a drinks waiter, but Esca didn’t think he’d yet seen him smile, apart from a few obviously fake smiles he’d given to customers. His youthful appearance had made him popular with a certain type of customer and it was obvious that Jack hated it. It didn’t even matter that he was popular- all the money went straight into the boss’ pocket anyway. Esca had tried to help the kid out a few times when he worked the floor, to protect him from some of the troublesome patrons who chose to ignore the rules and try to grab him, but there was only so much he could do before getting into trouble with the boss. Esca knew that the kid would have to dance soon, or let those customers take him up to the top floor, and there was nothing he could do about that without risking both their skins.

Esca lay awake one night with a plethora of conflicting thoughts running through his mind. Marcus had been in that night and Esca had given him another clothed dance by the stage as Marcus had told him he’d been gathering money and put down the deposit on his own car so he could fetch Esca when the time came. He’d been feeling optimistic, the nights always seemed to be more bearable when Marcus had been around, even if his other clients dominated his attention.

That happy feeling had stayed with him until he’d seen Jack huddled up on his bunk and a strong desire to rescue the boy as well had overcome him. Esca had not yet told Marcus about the kid; a great many of Esca’s secrets seemed to stick in his throat even in those heart-pounding moments when he danced for Marcus that left his knees, and his resolve, feeling weak. He’d shown him the bruises – Esca was used to his body being looked at by now - but he’d kept a close guard on his heart.

It seemed Jack was awake as well, if the constant rustling of sheets and the creak of the bed as he turned over was anything to go by.

“You okay, kid?” Esca murmured, loud enough for Jack to hear. A pair of legs dangled over the side of the bunk and he dropped to the floor.

“I’m a bit cold, that’s all,” he whispered, kneeling at the side of Esca’s bed, arms crossed over his bare chest, but the look on his face told him it certainly wasn’t all. Esca sat up and rummaged around, bringing out a thick t-shirt of his own and passing it to the boy.

“Put this on, you’ll be warmer.”

“Thanks,” Jack muttered gratefully. As he raised his arms to bring the shirt over his head, Esca struggled not to stare too much at his chest where Jack’s ribs stood through. He leaned heavily on his hand to stop himself reaching out for them uninvited. Jack finished putting on the shirt but made no attempt to move back into his bunk.

“Get in.” Esca commanded, lifting a corner of his covers.

“Are you sure? You’ve already given me your shirt...”

“Come on. I’ll look after you, you’ll freeze up there.”

Jack slid awkwardly into the bed and they both lay down. Despite them being both so slight, it was still a bit of a squeeze in the single and Esca winced as he felt the chill of Jack’s feet on his leg.

“Why are you being so kind to me?” He whispered as Esca tugged the covers up over his shoulders, making sure he was covered.

“If I don’t help you, no-one else will,” he whispered back, “and I could have done with a friend when I first came here.”

“I saw you with that man again in the club,” Jack ventured carefully. “You speak to him a lot.”

“Yes,” Esca hesitated, not knowing how much to tell him in case it somehow got back to the boss. “Marcus. He’s a regular of mine.”

“Is he good to you? Does he treat you well?”

“Yes, I suppose he does.” Esca frowned. “Who has treated you badly?”

“No-one in particular but I don’t like it. I don’t see why anyone does this by choice. How do you cope being forced to do it?”

“You get used to it.”

“How long have you been here, then?”

“A year, maybe two. I lose track.”

“Years?! Will we ever escape?!” Jack’s voice echoed out into the room.

“Shhh,” Esca soothed, stroking his back instinctively to calm him.

“Is there any hope, though?” Jack whispered desperately.

“I have hope,” Esca replied absentmindedly. “I dance for him a few nights a week.”

“Your Marcus?”

“Yes. Marcus.”

Jack turned over and tugged Esca’s arm over himself, snuggling back against him. Esca was quite content to let it lie there, sharing heat with the younger man. He thought about sharing the story of how he’d ended up here, but soon he felt Jack’s breathing slow and his pulse thrum steadily, and Esca had to bite his lip and fight back angry tears at what they’d both been thrown in to.  


	6. Six

The next time Marcus entered the club, Esca was waiting to lead him over to one of the booths on the ground floor, the one they often took when they needed to discuss things with each other. Marcus was barely settled before Esca was beginning his dance. Gritting his teeth, he said,

“We have a problem.”

“What problem? I told you last time, I’ve been saving up money. I’ve got the car, and soon I’ll have enough to get you well away from here. Can you not try to get away, just like that day at the coffee shop?”

“There’s a kid.” Esca’s eyes flashed dangerously.

“Kid?”

“You’ll see.”

Marcus saw, when Esca took to the stage later, that he was fixed under the calculating gaze of his owner, who was making it quite obvious, both to Esca and the other patrons, that he was watching the stage. It would have been clear to anyone on this night, and not just Marcus, that Esca was utterly furious. It was written all over his face as well as in the tense stance of his body.

The cryptic conversation Marcus had with Esca explained itself when the boy stumbled onto the stage, dressed identically to the other dancer. He had no muscles to speak of, not like Esca whose years of dance and pole work had given him arms any gym nut could be proud of, and the kid’s waistcoat hung on him awkwardly as if he were totally aware of its presence being the only barrier against his bare skin and the stares of his patrons. He looked thin and scared out of his wits, with a fake, nervous smile pasted across his face. Esca held out a firm hand to guide him as he took a few tentative steps forward.

_He can’t be any older than 18_ , Marcus mused, only to have it confirmed a moment later by an announcement that told the crowd it was the kid’s first dance in the club. Marcus felt nauseous at the reluctant display about to be paraded before them. He knew there was no way the kid was there of his own free will. Even if it hadn’t been evident from the kid, he could have read it from Esca as easily as he might read a paper in front of him.

Up on stage Jack caught onto Esca’s hand gratefully and allowed himself to be presented to the club under his steadying presence.

“Let me take the lead,” Esca muttered. “Forget about everyone, just dance for yourself.”

“Is Marcus here?”

“He is.”

“So we’re dancing for him?”

“If you like,” Esca replied. “Now trust me.”

Esca expertly spun Jack away from him, nearly breaking hand contact as they leaned away from each other, before bringing him back in close to his body as a slow beat began. He began to rotate his hips as he held Jack’s and felt the boy start to do the same.

“Good,” he encouraged. “Just like we practiced. Music’s going to get faster, you ready?”

“Ready.”

From the floor, Marcus watched, gripped, as the anger melted from Esca’s face into what else he couldn’t quite know; determination, protectiveness over the kid or maybe even complete immersion in the dance. He took the lead, his experience covering the boy’s blunders, as they danced together in one of the most erotic displays Marcus had ever seen. Partner dances on the club’s stage were a rarity, usually only available in private rooms, but when they happened the sexual tension always leapt through the roof. 

Aware every pair of hungry eyes in the club was on them, Jack fumbled for his waistcoat buttons only to find Esca’s arms covering them from behind him. “No.” Esca told him, flattening his hands against the buttons, and doing back up the one Jack had managed to slip undone, to show the audience that Jack belonged to _him_ and that the top would be staying on. “I’ll strip, you dance.”

Marcus found himself half sickened, half hard in his pants as the boy, backed up against Esca, gyrated his hips against him, allowing Esca’s hands to roam under his arms and across the front of his body possessively, covering where his nipples would be and teasing around the buttons as they put on a show for their eager audience before switching places so Esca was the centre of attention. What Marcus wouldn’t give to have Esca’s hands all over _him_ like that, bending to whisper in his ear, running his hands through his hair, grinding his body against him...

Startled, Marcus snapped out of the erotic trance he’d been in and quickly knocked back the rest of his drink to distract himself, wincing at the bitter aftershock as the liquid hit his throat. He looked around for the boss and found the man watching the stage, where the kid was dancing in shadow, and Esca was now topless, contorting himself around the pole in eye-watering ways amidst the cheers and savage whistles of many men. The boss didn’t look entirely happy, and Marcus guessed that Esca had done something that hadn’t been part of the plan. The dance was now ending, with Esca taking a cheeky little bow and steering the kid away from the hungry clutches of the customers.

As the stage was taken up again by the usual selection of dancers, Marcus saw Esca and the kid leaving at the back. The boy looked relieved he hadn’t messed anything up, and Esca gave him a slap on the back and a genuine smile before sending him through a private door and shrugging back on the shirt, waistcoat and belt he’d taken off. Marcus watched his warm smile turn to ice as an eager customer put a hand on his shoulder and passed him a roll of money to tempt him away to one of the curtained booths upstairs. Marcus barely fought the urge to throw his drink glass as Esca tucked the money into his pocket and, with not even a glance over at his table, went with the customer.

Once he’d let his rage subside, Marcus thought he could see the problem with the kid, though Esca didn’t come over again that night, being in high demand from many other men in the club after the display he’d put on. Unable to stand watching their hands all over him, Marcus left early.

OOO

“Did I do it right?” Jack asked as they both got into Esca’s bunk as usual that night.

“You did great,” Esca ruffled the kid’s hair. “I’m proud of you.”

“What did Marcus say?”

“I didn’t see him. I was booked up by customers wanting private dances the rest of the night, then the boss wanted the money.”

“Private dances?” Jack asked fearfully.

“That’s not going to happen to you.” Esca said determinedly. “I’d take a hundred beatings from the boss myself for loss of earnings before I’d let one of them have you alone or naked.” He wound his arm under Jack’s and pressed his hand against his chest reassuringly just like he’d done when they’d danced. Jack relaxed against him, recognising the gesture designed to make him feel safe.

“Thanks Esca,” he whispered.


	7. Seven

The next time Marcus had the chance to talk to Esca, the first thing he asked was, “would you go if you had to leave him behind?” It was a question that had been eating at him ever since his dance with the boy.

“Not if we could save him too,” Esca replied firmly. “I’ve been his only protection in this place, if I leave that’s gone. Our owner knows no limits in getting what he wants, and if he wants to find me... I’d be throwing the kid to the wolf with my own hands.”

A ripple of annoyance spread through Marcus, even though he privately, grudgingly admitted he could see where Esca was coming from. “Isn’t what I’m doing enough?” He glared. “I’m trying to help you, Esca, but I can only do it if you’ll let me. It kills me to see their hands all over you every night I’m in here.”

“Keep your voice down,” Esca replied crossly, “I’d rather have their hands on me than the kid, and my name is ‘Alexander’ when you’re here, as you well know.”

“Well maybe I’m not interested in Alexander, or was I stupid to think that it was Esca who was interested in me?!” Marcus was half-rising out of his chair in anger, struggling with his wounded leg cramping up on him, hurting his pride. He slammed a few notes down on the table for Esca’s time and straightened up. “What could a stripper ever see in the cripple he dances for, after all?”

“Don’t be a dick,” Esca frowned, his ears reddening. He looked around anxiously to see if anyone was watching before grabbing Marcus’ elbow and giving it a squeeze. “You know I don’t think of you like that,” he murmured, but he let Marcus go, seeing that the soldier’s pride would suffer another blow if he wasn’t able to ride away on his high horse. Plus, they were still in the club Esca was a captive in, and Marcus was still a paying customer.

“Thank you Alexander.” Marcus said formally, then he pulled on his jacket and left.

Esca sighed and gathered up the notes. He was going to catch hell for angering his customer anyway, no sense in catching hell for making no money either. He stuffed the money he’d made in his pocket and made his way through the private door at the back of the club. He was in the corridor that led to the stairs up to the main office when the boss appeared, and Esca couldn’t help but gulp.

“The doorman tells me your regular left in a less than pleased mood tonight,” he enquired smoothly, stroking his harshly cut facial hair meanacingly. “Care to explain why?”

Esca looked down at his feet.

“Nothing? Well, this is a disappointment.” He took a few steps over to Esca, who willed himself not to tremble.

“Don’t make me regret letting you dance to earn your keep,” he hissed, “otherwise you’re going to have to prove your worth in other ways.”

Esca’s skin crawled as he continued to stare at the floor, and through gritted teeth he forced himself to say, “yes, sir.”

“Good.” The boss made to walk away but stopped, returning in one sweep and backhanding Esca across the jaw, raking a scratch across his skin near his lip where his ring caught it. Painfully slowly, he took his pink pocket-square out and polished the ring, inspecting his manicured nails for any damage. “Don’t you dare show me up like that again. Now get out of my sight.”

Esca all but fled down the stairs.

It wasn’t until he was in the bathroom later, inspecting his scratched face in the mirror and fumbling in his pocket for a tissue that his hands brushed across a thicker paper, and Esca realised his pockets were full of money. Money that his owner had assumed Esca didn’t have when Marcus had left angry, enough money to snatch at freedom if the opportunity arose.

Disbelieving, Esca laughed so hard he had to hold onto the sink for support, laughed until the tears rolled down his face, salting his wound, a sting that had never felt so good. When Esca blinked to clear the fuzziness obscuring the numbers printed on the notes, he caught sight of his face in the mirror and realised not all the tears were of laughter.

OOO

By the time Jack crawled into bed as usual, the notes had been carefully stashed away and only the cut on Esca’s jaw suggested anything had happened.

“Was it my fault?” Jack asked fearfully, reaching out to gently touch the scratch.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Esca reassured, rubbing the younger man’s back as he so often did to calm him. “I angered Marcus and the boss noticed, that’s all.”

“Marcus wants you to run away with him, doesn’t he?” Jack muttered, a tinge of sadness in his voice, before catching the surprised look on Esca’s face. “It’s alright, I know he does, and I know you want to go with him. I’ve seen you together, seen how turned on he gets when you dance for him, and how you dance like he’s the only one in the room. He doesn’t watch anyone else. He wants you, but he wants you away from here.”

“You’re very observant,” Esca remarked. Jack just shrugged.

“Being observant was half the bother that landed me here.” He changed the subject swiftly. “How did you anger Marcus?”

Esca’s grip on the younger boy tightened. “I told him I wouldn’t leave without you.”

There was a long silence in which Esca struggled to control his breathing, there was such a weight on his chest. Jack had gone very still, but now he softened as he stared at Esca. With an utterly determined look on his face, he told him,

“You should go anyway. If you get the chance, you have to go, even if it’s without me.”

“If I get the chance, I’m getting us _both_ out of here.”

“If you can’t, please. Get away from here.” He sounded so desperate, Esca just made a noise of assent to keep from upsetting him. Satisfied, Jack rolled over to sleep. Esca gave his hair one last ruffle, and rolled over himself to stare at the bottom of the top bunk. He had a lot of thinking to do.

OOO

Esca made sure to check up on Jack every day, making time for him every night before they went to sleep, since he couldn’t be there to protect him on the floor, especially if they were requested by different customers. It was the semi-private dances the kid found the most difficult, Esca knew. He’d been able to save him from the curtained booths upstairs but not from the lapdances, there was too much money at stake. Even though he was clothed, being up close and personal with the men lusting after him sickened Jack, instead of being up on the stage distanced from their whims and their grabbing hands.

Jack had taken Esca’s advice about closing himself off from what he was doing, and concentrated not on his customers, but on his dancing. To some extent Esca was relieved this was the case; if the kid kept messing up, some fallout would inevitably land on him. Still, life was not easy when everyone wanted a taste of the young blood.

Esca wasn’t the only one checking up on Jack, unfortunately. The boss was as well, taking a great deal of interest in his new pet, summoning him to his office nearly every night. Esca still couldn’t forget those days when he was the new pet, and remembered what the sharp man in his tailored suits had asked or even ordered of him, and clenched his fists every time the boy was summoned. He could protect him from the customers, but not the boss. Jack crawled into Esca’s bed every night for comfort but would always refuse to say what he’d been asked to do, playing his secrets as close to his chest as Esca himself.

One night Jack came downstairs early, sporting a bloody lip, and behind the tears in his eyes was a hint of defiance. “Tonight was different,” his lip wavered, forcing out another red droplet that beaded on his skin. Esca steered him over to their bunk and sat him down, dabbing at the blood with a tissue and automatically checking over the rest of his face and body for injuries. Unprompted, Jack continued.

“Usually he’d just make me fetch him drinks as he did his paperwork or have me dance in front of him wearing my stage outfits, but tonight he wanted to touch me, and he wanted me to properly strip for him,” he managed to choke out, and Esca noticed a button of the waistcoat had been torn off, but he said nothing.

“It’s bad enough having his filthy eyes on me every time I walk across the office,” Jack spat, “but I’d rather die than willingly take off all my clothes and whore myself for him.” He dropped his head down in shame but Esca held him lightly under the chin and brought his head up so he could look into his eyes. Very seriously, Esca asked,

“What did he do to you?”

“I told him to go to hell.” Jack replied. “He got this crazed look in his eyes, and he knocked me right down on the floor, almost as if he were going to tear the clothes off himself, but then his phone rang and he threw me out.” A note of fear crept into his voice. “How far would he go?”

“I’m not sure you want to know,” Esca replied flatly. “We have to get out of here before we find out.”

“Has he ever done it to you?” Jack risked.

“It’s complicated,” he began carefully, “and I’ve been punished for refusing. Escaping will be hard.”

“Have you tried before?”

“I had my chance, when I first met Marcus,” Esca said. “I stole a phone to send him a message, and snuck out to meet him. But I wasn’t sure if I could trust Marcus then, so I had to come back. A roof over my head was better than nothing at all.”

“He found out you’d gone?” Whispered Jack in awe.

“Oh, he found out,” Esca warned him, “and he beat me so badly I couldn’t use the pole for days. I had to wear a long shirt and a makeup artist had to come and cover up my black eye. I was lucky to get away with a scratch the other night.”

“Holy shit.” Jack covered his face with his hands.

Esca put a protective arm around him, and continued dabbing his lip until it had stopped bleeding. “So try not to anger him, alright? I don’t want him to hurt you.”

 


	8. Eight

Marcus hadn’t seen Esca close-up at all in the week following his less-than-smooth exit from the club, and he thought he’d blown the whole thing until he’d noticed Esca seemed to be kept constantly busy away from Marcus, a measure that the club’s owner had probably taken to keep his business running smoothly. Marcus cursed himself for being so rash with his words and barely stayed an hour in the club most nights.

At home, Uncle Aquila had picked up on his nephew’s bad mood and forced him one evening to sit down and tell the whole story.

“There’s a kid,” Marcus had explained, “barely 18 and he’s under the thumb of the boss as well. Esca looks out for him.”

“So, what’s the problem?”

“So, Esca won’t leave without him,” Marcus replied stubbornly.

“Do you like the boy?”

“Not in the same way I do Esca,” Marcus said evasively. It was still hard for him to process his uncle’s support in his ‘relationship’ with Esca, even though they hadn’t yet had much of a relationship to speak of beyond a few clothed dances. “If he’s important to Esca, he’s important to me,” Marcus eventually admitted with a sigh.

“Then what are you waiting for?” His uncle asked incredulously, wondering how he could have helped raise such an emotionally oblivious man. “Get down there and repair things before Esca and that boy end up hurt!”

Marcus stared at him a moment before blinking rapidly a few times, then throwing on his coat and disappearing as fast as his cramping leg would allow.

OOO

At the club there was again no sign of Esca, but the kid was on the stage and kept throwing Marcus direct, meaningful looks, never making eye contact with anyone else. It made Marcus nauseous to think of watching a boy so young in the way many other men were, but eventually his desire for answers moved him to a seat at the stage. The kid nervously moved over to his area as soon as possible to dance there.

It was the first time Marcus had seen the boy alone up close, and he was still as thin as the first day he’d danced with Esca. His hair was a mop of seemingly untameable but beautiful locks, almost black in colour under the stage lights. The kid had eyebrows to match, and as furrowed with worry as they were, they were still shapely and highly expressive. Tonight he was wearing a simple pair of cropped trousers and a shirt that covered most of his torso including his arms and shoulders, though the first few buttons were undone, and the gape of the neck offered Marcus a view of defined collarbones.

He didn’t look _happy_ to be dancing, but neither did he look terribly traumatised either, just the quiet neutral of concentration. He’d improved on his clumsiness and now moved with a light grace, right down to his slender fingertips and delicate feet.

Marcus had reached a careful medium himself, being neither aroused as he’d expected nor angry, and his thoughts drifted away from the boy and his defined hips, the way he occasionally swept a hand through his hair, and the innocent face so easily corruptible. The boy, finishing a routine on the pole, leaned down to use the floor, and spoke in a soft tone so that only Marcus could hear.

“Book me for a private dance and I’ll show you what you want to see.”

At first Marcus was startled, wondering if his expression had been one of lust after all, but he quickly figured it out and realised the boy was a lot more intelligent than he appeared. To any casual eavesdropper, it was a perfectly harmless request here in a strip club, concerning the services they offered and nothing more, but to Marcus, who could safely assume Esca had told the kid about him, it meant a great deal more. The message was loaded with meaning and Marcus would have put money on it meaning Esca was the thing in question he’d want to see; was about to put a lot of money on that exact assumption.

“Why don’t you come with me?” Marcus requested in as sultry a voice as he could manage, again for anyone listening. He passed up the required notes and the boy took his offered hand delicately, allowing Marcus to lift him down from the stage with a little helping jump, though Marcus noticed the boy flinch as he placed a firm hand on his back to guide him.

“This way, sir,” the boy said, taking him by the hand to lead him away from the stage and up to the top floor of the club where the private booths were. Marcus had never been in one of these- it would have seemed too suspicious to keep seeing Esca there - but now he ducked through a heavy velvet curtain held open by the kid. As he stepped into the private booth he was almost immediately nearly knocked off his feet by a rush of air and a tangle of arms and legs.

“I didn’t know if you’d come,” the voice attached to the arms and legs said breathlessly. It was Esca. For a moment Marcus said nothing, simply holding the smaller man to him, taking in the scent that was so familiar to him from all the times Esca had danced for him and leaned in close.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have been angry with you,” Marcus told him sincerely as they broke apart. Jack entered the booth behind him, and walked around Marcus to stand next to Esca, who held a hand out for him. “Thanks for bringing him,” he said, squeezing the kid’s hand.

“He didn’t punish you for my anger, did he?” Marcus frowned.

“Just a scratch, nothing much,” Esca replied casually, “but he’s taken an unhealthy interest in Jack here, and we need to get out soon, before he gets hurt.” Esca stroked the boy’s back encouragingly as Marcus held out a hand.

“Jack? I’m Marcus. I’m sure Esca has told you about me.”

The boy shook Marcus’ hand politely, a surreal experience when just five minutes previously he’d been grinding a pole for Marcus’ pleasure.

“He’s told me a great deal about you,” he said lightly, but his tone turned more serious. “I want you to keep your promise, and get Esca out of here,” he insisted, fixing his eyes firmly upon Marcus.

“I’ll do my best,” Marcus replied, eyebrows raised.

“Thanks,” he said in a small voice, then left the booth to keep watch outside.

Turning to Esca, Marcus asked, “When?”

“This weekend,” Esca replied.

“Will you be able to get out?”

“I managed it once to meet you. We’ll manage it again.”

“Fine,” Marcus agreed. “I’ll bring the car and wait in the multi-storey in the city centre, Saturday, from lunchtime. Can you get there?”

Esca nodded, and leaned into Marcus for another hug, feeling his heart beat nervously against his chest. He tilted up his head, ready for anything now they’d finally got a few snatched moments together, but before he could seal his lips across Marcus’, the soldier placed a finger across them again, just like he’d done before.

Amused, he said, “I promised. I’m not kissing you in this club. You’ll be a free man when I do.”

“I don’t need to be free to show how I feel about you,” Esca argued, but Marcus shook his head.

“No, but I want to take my time, and I’ll probably want to take both our clothes off to show how I feel about _you_ ,” he teased. “Go, before I’m tempted.”

As a concession, Esca stood on tiptoe to peck a brief kiss on Marcus’ cheek. “I’ll be there.”

 


	9. Nine

Marcus didn’t go to the club for the rest of the week, he couldn’t face it. The next time he wanted to see Esca dance would be when they were alone together, when Marcus could take his time and really appreciate him without worrying Esca would suffer for it later at the hands of his boss. Instead, he kept busy, making final plans and checking and re-checking the car, their most important tool in the getaway plan. His uncle had observed all of this activity and said nothing, until finally Marcus had cracked under his glances and told him all their plans.

OOO

On the Friday before they were due to make their getaway, Marcus had a doctor’s appointment that he entered with some trepidation. He’d had some scans a few weeks ago on his leg, just before he’d first started going to the Eagles club, and the results had arrived at last. Hobbling into the office, Marcus knew that it couldn’t be good.

“It’s not looking good,” the doctor told him immediately when he’d taken a seat. He pushed his glasses up his nose and peered at the paper in front of him again. “If you’re to have any chance at restoring full function in that leg, you’re going to need surgery.”

“What type of surgery?” Marcus asked suspiciously.

“The wound needs to be re-opened and searched,” the doctor told him. “There are still bits of shrapnel in there that have to be removed before it will properly heal. I’ve no idea what the army surgeon was doing when he operated on you the first time, but he didn’t get it all.”

“When?”

“As soon as possible. I’m amazed it hasn’t already, but if your body starts rejecting the foreign objects, you’ll deteriorate very quickly, and infections of that kind are extremely serious. I can refer you to the local hospital, they have facilities to take care of such a task. You’ll need bed rest for a week or two afterwards to stand the best chance of full recovery.”

“I can’t,” Marcus shook his head, thinking only of Esca and his plan, which involved taking him away far from here. The dancer was depending on him, he couldn’t back out now. He wouldn’t. After all, he’d also made a promose to Jack, and Marcus always kept his promises.

“Sorry?” The doctor frowned over his glasses.

“I can’t,” Marcus repeated. “I have to go away soon, maybe as soon as tomorrow. It’s important.”

“More important than risking your own health?”

“Another life depends on it,” Marcus whispered under his breath, but he just nodded his head.

“Well,” the doctor sighed, “it’s your decision, but unless you want that leg to be permanently crippled, you’ll have to have the surgery as soon as you can.” He tapped some details into his computer and another piece of paper came shooting out of the printer. The doctor signed it and held out the test papers to Marcus, who took them gingerly. “There’s a referral there, just submit it when you get to wherever you’re going.”

“I’ll try my best,” Marcus said. “Thanks for everything.”

OOO

When he got home, Marcus avoided his uncle and his questions and went immediately to his room to take down his big military holdall from on top of his wardrobe. It was the only decent bag he had, and he shoved the test papers in one of the pockets without looking at them. He packed quickly and efficiently, taking clothes and essentials and leaving out frivolities, although he hadn’t been with his uncle in this house long enough to gather many frivolities.

He’d lived with his uncle as a boy when his mother seemed to have given up on life after his father died, but their previous house, and those memories, were long behind him. For the past few years, the military had been all Marcus had. He laid out the camo trousers from his old uniform for the next day almost without thinking about what he was doing. There was going to be a war, since Esca’s boss would not give him up easily, but if Marcus had anything to do with it, his victory would win him Esca and Jack’s freedom.

Thinking about the battle ahead, Marcus slid a hand under the bed, and felt for the thick tape that held something he’d hidden against the slats. Pulling it out, he idly twisted the handgun between his fingers and checked the clip. He preferred rifles, but they were a little harder to conceal than a simple pistol. Still having it was highly illegal, but somehow it had found its way with him from the battlefield, and Marcus would have bet William Aquila had a few battlefield secrets of his own hidden away. Not bothering to load the pistol, he tucked it deep within the items in his bag, the barrel cushioned in a thick pair of socks, and followed it with a small box of ammunition.

He zipped up the holdall firmly, and that was all he could do until he saw Esca in the car park tomorrow.

OOO

In the Eagles Club on Friday night, for once Esca danced not with a glare, but a smirk all over his face. It seemed to him that there was nothing his owner could possibly do to destroy his unusually good mood. It seemed the club’s patrons had felt the change in him as well, as he’d been more popular that evening. Esca still did not quite crack a smile for his private customers, knowing that every scrap of money he made would go straight into the pocket of the boss anyway; he refused to earn him extra for being charming.

Jack was still as graceful on stage and as clumsy on the floor as usual, giving nothing away. He knew they were going, but not the exact details of the plan Esca had cooked up in his mind to distract himself from his clients.

After the club had closed, they both barely slept at all during the night, the enormity of the task ahead pressing upon them. By dawn, they were both exhausted, and Esca sent Jack back to bed whilst he packed their meagre possessions into a rucksack. For now he left his secret stash of money where he’d hidden it, and finally crawled in next to Jack to try and catch a few precious hours of sleep.

By lunchtime, their usual waking hours thanks to their late finishes, neither could stand the waiting any more. Esca slipped on a hooded sweatshirt and shouldered the backpack. He crept up the stairs to make sure the coast was clear and felt Jack following close behind as he poked his head out of the stairwell door.

Unfortunately, they ran into the man they wanted to see least of all, coming down the other stairs at the other end of the corridor from his office. He was swinging the cane he sometimes adorned himself with, a sleek dark stick with a gold-plated end and a heavy handle in the shape of an eagle with spread wings. He didn’t need it to walk in the same way Marcus sometimes needed his crutch – this was just another metaphor for his brutality. Esca had felt the sting of that vile cane before, and judging by the way Jack physically jumped, he’d been threatened with it as well.

They both attempted to look as innocent as possible. There was no way the boss had missed them – it appeared he’d been coming to check on them, and he meandered down the hall as his charges were rooted to their spot.

“Jack and I were going to go out to get him some more stage clothes,” Esca lied smoothly, pre-empting him. Jack, not trusting himself to speak, nodded in agreement.

“Oh, I don’t think it will take the two of you to do that,” the boss smirked, making Esca’s skin crawl. _He knew_. Had he seen the backpack?

“They’ll need his sizes...” Esca protested, but the boss shook his head, frowning.

“No, if you go to the usual place they already have his sizes, and you can charge them to the club’s account.” He narrowed his eyes at the pair of them. Jack had started to cling to the back of Esca’s hood. “Don’t think I’ll let you both out alone,” he said nastily, hand tightening on the golden eagle. The slaves stood helpless, neither knowing what to do, until the boss grew impatient.

“Get going then, Esca,” he snapped, gesturing with the cane. “You know where the shop is. Jack is going to put on that waistcoat outfit of his I like so much and accompany me upstairs.”

The colour drained out of Esca’s face, and he felt a fist ball in the small of his back. Every fibre of his being thrummed with dread, a sentiment he was sure the kid was echoing.

“If you aren’t upstairs in five minutes, I’ll come and fetch you myself,” the boss told Jack, “and you don’t want to find out what will happen then.” He stalked away a little, towards the stairs to his office, waiting with one sharp polished shoe on the first step, revelling in the power he had over them both.

“Go,” Jack said, in a weak voice, still clutching the back of Esca’s jumper. “This is it. You have to go.”

“Listen to me,” Esca said very seriously, spinning around to face Jack and taking both of his hands. Whispering so that only the kid could hear, he said “I’ll come back for you. I’ll get Marcus, and I’ll come back for you. I promise you, I won’t leave you behind.”

Jack made a choking sound in his throat as they heard the boss’ cane tapping against the steps. “Go now or he’ll hurt us both.” Esca pulled him into a fierce hug, memorising the soft tickle of the kid’s hair, his bony shoulders and the feel of Jack’s hands around his waist.

“I’ll come back for you,” he promised again.

Then Esca ran.


	10. Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Additional warnings apply for this chapter.

Outside, the sky was overcast and Esca felt the first few raindrops on his skin. The club was out on a country road bordered by high fences, an ideal location for a strip club, far from witnesses and with the added effect of making it extremely difficult to make an escape, especially when there were no vehicles parked in the day or many that passed to flag down for assistance.

Esca ran on the hard shoulder of the road until the sweat poured down his face and his breath came in ragged gasps, and then he ran some more. The multi-storey car park Marcus had arranged to meet them in was in the closest town, but he barely made it to the outskirts before he was forced to slow to a walk. Esca was used to working his body hard, but not running flat out like this, and especially not when his heart was already thumping with worry over being separated from the kid.

Esca’s bedraggled state earned him a few concerned glances from shoppers brave enough to risk the elements, and he quickly rammed his hood over his head in case any of the boss’ associates saw him – he had spies everywhere and the shop he was supposed to be going to was the opposite way on the road, in a tiny village where no-one asked questions. Esca’s thoughts kept wandering back to Jack and the club’s owner, and his hands balled into fists every time his harsh face crossed his mind.

“I’ll kill him,” he muttered, making wild plans in his head that he knew would never come to fruition. Esca was strong, but not strong enough to overpower the man who had an office full of potential weapons and could have a small army of bodyguards on the scene with the touch of a button. Should he have tried, the man could easily remove them both and no-one would have known; the savage beating Esca had taken when he slipped out the first time was proof of that, and not one of his private customers nor even the makeup artist had mentioned his bruises, serving to remind him who he belonged to.

Determined to reach the one man who had shown an interest in helping him, he quickened his pace again. When Esca finally jogged up the ramp into the car park, soaked to the skin from sweat and rain, he saw his soldier straight away, sitting on the front of a small red car, resplendent in the same camouflage khakis he’d worn that day they’d bumped into each other on the street.

Marcus’ face went through a cycle of different emotions when he set eyes on Esca, who was holding onto the handrail with one arm, and clutching his side with another. There was first relief, confusion at his state, and the inevitable glance round behind him to check if he’d come alone. Marcus had assumed they’d have slipped away easily.

“Are you alright?” He asked, alarmed, as Esca reached him. Esca settled his hand on the bonnet for a second and held up another whilst he got back his breath. Marcus rubbed his back reassuringly to help air into his overworked lungs.

“Jack... he’s... Jack... got to go back,” he gasped.

“What? Go back?” Marcus asked incredulously. “Esca, you got away!”

“ _He_ caught us leaving,” Esca explained, chest heaving. “That bastard took Jack into his office. I promised the kid I’d come back for him.”

“Shit,” Marcus swept a hand through his hair. “Will he hurt the kid?”

“Yes.” Esca straightened up finally, sure as anything. “You have to take me back.”

“I will,” Marcus said, “do you need me to help? Will you be able to get away again?”

“I don’t know,” Esca said, “but if we’re to have a chance at all, we have to act like nothing happened. So I need an outfit for the kid.”

Marcus didn’t ask him to elaborate on getting an outfit, knowing Esca well enough by now to know that wasting time asking questions would get him nowhere.

OOO

He dropped Esca off down a dirt track off the road from the club, not entirely happy about what he was doing, but knowing there was no other way Esca would come with him. Esca grabbed the outfit they’d stopped to hurriedly buy and paused by Marcus’ open window.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I can’t leave him.”

“It’s alright,” Marcus replied. “Promise to try and let me know what’s going on, if you can’t come today.”

“I will. Best not to show up at the club later, just in case _he_ figures it out. ”

Esca was gone, jogging again round the corner in the growing darkness.

OOO

The club was quiet when he got in. No-one was in the entrance hall where Esca shook the rain out of his hair, and in the main room, no-one had yet come in to warm up on the stage, as they sometimes did. In the corridor at the back, Esca half-expected to run into the boss again, but this area was quiet as well.

He carefully climbed a few stairs in the direction of the office, to listen intently. He could hear nothing, no music playing, shouting nor any scrape of the boss’ rolling desk chair on the floor, which usually meant there was no-one in there.

Frowning, and starting to get the feeling something was wrong, he hastily carried himself downstairs to the basement room and flung the decoy outfit on their bare bunk. Optimistically packing their rucksack full of clothes this morning felt like a million years ago now.

“Jack?” He called. There was no response, worrying Esca. He heard the opening of a door upstairs and immediately went up there, but it was another dancer, who went by the stage name of Diesel, who was coming in early, and not Jack.

“Whoa,” he said as Esca nearly knocked him over. Diesel was one of the more amiable dancers the boss employed. He’d never been cruel to either Esca or Jack, had never thrown either of them dirty looks or spread rumours amongst their group as some of the others were prone to do. He simply went about his own business. Of course, dancers like Diesel were free to come and go any time they pleased; employed for the money and not because the boss had incriminating information on any of them. It was only Esca and Jack kept prisoner, bound to service for their circumstances.

“Have you seen Jack?” Esca asked him desperately.

“Missing your friend?” He asked curiously. “Sorry, haven’t seen him. You don’t look so good, maybe you should take a shower or something.”

“I’m fine,” he said absent-mindedly, already racking his brain for anywhere else Jack might be. Diesel shrugged and went out to practice a routine on the stage, leaving Esca standing in the corridor.

_Shower. Of course._ Esca dashed back down to their bathroom, finding the door closed. He hammered on it. “Jack, you in there?” He pressed his ear to the door, hearing running water, but it didn’t sound at all like the shower running, more like the bath. He tugged on the handle, but it was locked from inside, with no way to open it from where he stood.

“Jack?!” He hollered again. No response from within, just the constant running water. Esca couldn’t ignore his intuition that something was wrong, so he stepped back from the door and regarded it warily.

“Sorry boss,” he decided, “take it out of my wages.” Using the same technique he sometimes performed to mount the pole and swing around it, he took a flying kick at the door with all the strength he could muster, landing his foot just above the lock. The doorframe, made of a flimsy wood, splintered, allowing the rusty lock to spring free, and the door shuddered open.

Inside the bathroom, water was running over the side of the bath into the drain on the floor, and as Esca scrambled up off the ground, he saw Jack. The kid was nearly sunk to the bottom of the bath, clothed in the waistcoat outfit, though now all the buttons were missing and the waistcoat hung open, the lining slashed on one side. No sign of his belt either, one of the front loops on his cropped trousers torn and the zipper undone.

His head lolled on his shoulder, and one of Jack’s arms dangled over the side of the tub, streaked red with blood running down his arm, dripping into the spreading pool that was also making its way down the drain. There was a small razorblade on the floor, obviously pried from a shaving tool, explaining the slashed waistcoat. His eyelids flickered as the door hit the wall inside.  

“Shit!” Tears sprung to Esca’s eyes as he stumbled across the floor, kicking the blade out of the way as he knelt by the bath and heaved Jack’s torso out of the water, hoping none of it had entered his mouth. Lukewarm water splashed over his legs as he dragged the kid out over his lap. “Shit,” he sobbed again, lifting Jack’s arm up above the rest of his body and trying to grab a towel to press over the lacerations there, as well as turning off both the taps. “What have you done?!” He asked the kid pointlessly, who was barely conscious, head rolling to the side.

“Don’t you dare,” Esca told him furiously, lightly cupping the side of his face to make him stay awake and cradling his body in his arms. “I came back for you, like I promised.” He manoeuvred Jack out of the bathroom and over to the bunk, all the while keeping a firm hold on the towel. Jack’s eyes flickered again as Esca moved the kid’s hand to keep the towel in place. “Hold this as tight as you can and don’t close your eyes,” Esca instructed him, reaching deep into their bag to feel for the wad of money he’d hidden there. “We are getting out of here.”

Leaving Jack holding the towel to stem the flow of blood, he sprinted up the stairs full pelt into Diesel, who was about to come down them.

“You look even worse now!” The other dancer exclaimed. “Why are you wet and covered in blood?!”

Esca didn’t answer the question, instead grabbing two fistfuls of Diesel’s shirt and slamming him up against the wall, an impressive feat, considering Diesel was about twice his size.

“I will pay you an obscene amount of money if you get me a taxi _right now_ ,” Esca ordered, waving the wad of cash.

“The boss...”

“Did this!” Esca gestured furiously to the blood on his hands. “This is Jack’s, and he will die unless you get us a taxi, right now.”

“Won’t an ambulance...?”

“He wouldn’t allow it!” Esca practically shouted. “Please, you’ve got this kid’s life in your hands!”

“I’ll do it,” Diesel had gone pale. Esca slapped the money at him, but the dancer shook his head, terrified. “Keep your money.” He worked his way out of Esca’s grasp and made haste for the front of the club. Esca stuffed the money back in his pocket and went to sit with Jack again.

The kid was exactly where he’d left him, leaned against the bunk, clutching the towel to his arm as hard as he could and fighting the blackness that threatened to overwhelm him. The draught in the basement was harsh on his bare chest and his wet clothes clung to him, and he was shivering by the time Esca returned to him.

“We’re going to the hospital,” Esca said, grabbing a jumper of his own and a light blanket from the bed to wrap around Jack. “We’re getting out of here.”

“I’m sorry,” Jack mumbled.

“Just keep your fucking eyes open. I didn’t make it back here so you could die on me,” Esca threatened half-heartedly.

Diesel came bounding down the steps, his breath catching in his throat as he saw the state Jack was in. “I’ve got your taxi,” he said weakly. “Luckily the driver was pretty close. If _he_ knew I was helping you...”

“The boss has done enough damage already,” Esca replied angrily, struggling upright with Jack in his arms. Mercifully, the club was still empty, and safe to carry him through.

Diesel held the front door open and handed them the rucksack, shaking his head again as Esca manhandled the boy into the taxi before turning around.

“I don’t need to tell you that the boss will find and kill us both if he finds out we’re gone,” Esca said quietly. “I’m hoping my trust in you hasn’t been misplaced.”

“Don’t worry,” Diesel replied, “after seeing this, I’m gone too.”

There was nothing else to say, so Esca hopped into the taxi. As they drove away, he took a last glance at the club where he’d been prisoner for so long. If he had anything to do with it, whether Jack lived or died, he’d never be coming back again.


	11. Eleven

The driver looked concernedly in the car’s rear-view mirror a few times as he thrashed it down the country road, probably at Jack’s bloodied state, but possibly also at the kid’s outfit. They looked exactly like two strippers making their escape from the scene of a terrible crime. Esca pulled the ends of the waistcoat together as best as he could and made sure Jack was well-covered with the jumper. He could tell the kid was fighting to hold onto consciousness, and so fighting to hold onto life, slumped over and using Esca heavily for support, but it didn’t stop the ache of worry in Esca’s chest. He had no idea what he was going to tell people at the hospital. Mainly he was worried that word would get back to the boss, and then they’d be screwed for sure. Perhaps he would dispose of them, Esca mused. It wouldn’t take much to finish Jack off right now, the boss could make it look like the kid really had succeeded in killing himself.

Thinking about the boss made Esca’s blood pressure rise, so instead he switched his thoughts to Marcus, who wouldn’t know what the hell was going on until Esca called him. He put his hand in his pocket and mentally counted the money again. It should be enough for the taxi ride and a sizeable bribe to ensure temporary safety.

At the hospital the driver pulled as close as he possibly could to the door. Esca took the wad of money out of his pocket. “You never saw us,” he said firmly, before passing it over. The driver helped Esca heave Jack out of the car, who by now was so far away with the fairies he was a dead weight in Esca’s arms.

A nurse inside saw them and shouted to her colleagues, coming out to help Esca carry the kid inside, taking over pressing the towel down firmly on Jack’s inner arm. Soon he was in good hands, up on a bed surrounded by medical personnel who were rushing him through the department, leaving Esca standing helplessly in the doorway, earning himself curious glances from others in A&E who were obviously wondering why he was covered in blood and soaked in patches from the bathwater. Esca hastily shoved his bloodied hands in his pockets to hide them, feeling a thick paper in surprise. He pulled it out- the money had ended up back in his pocket. He turned around but the taxi and driver had already gone.

Esca’s eyes filled with grateful tears. There was still some humanity in the world after all. He stood staring at the money stupidly as people jostled around him, until someone moved him to a chair out of the way and forced something warm and sweet into his hand. As he realised how many miles he’d run today, on nearly no sleep, Esca’s head lolled back in exhaustion.

OOO

When he regained his own consciousness, it was dark outside, and the proper night had come. For a minute Esca panicked, thinking the boss would be right on their tail. Only Diesel knew where they were, and even he didn’t know where they’d go afterwards, but he could have his associates show up at any moment to find out where they had got to, and here he was sitting in the reception, making it easy for them.

Seeing he was awake, the nurse who had first greeted them at the door approached Esca, holding a clipboard. “Excuse me, sir?” She asked. “You brought the boy in, didn’t you?”

“I did...” Esca began hesitantly, getting out of his chair and wondering if the nurse was going to ask why Jack had been in the state he was in. It would be a difficult task to try and explain.

The nurse didn’t ask that question though. Instead, she told Esca with a smile, “thanks to your quick actions, we managed to stabilise him and give him a transfusion to replace the blood he’d lost. He’s been stitched up, and is going to be just fine.”

Esca’s face cracked into a wide grin, the first he could remember in a long time. He exhaled a long sigh of relief. “That’s good news. Can I see him?”

“Sure,” the nurse said.  “You’ll need to wash your hands first, and we can’t let him go just yet, so we’re moving him to a ward for observation.” She beckoned for Esca to follow.  Jack wasn’t far, just in the department next door. “He’s a bit sleepy from the pain meds,” the nurse warned, as Esca scrubbed his bloody hands thoroughly in the sink outside. “When you’re done in there we need you to come and fill out some forms for us. In the rush we didn’t get his name. Are you responsible for him?”

“Yes, I suppose I am,” Esca agreed, and the nurse drew back the curtain for him.

Jack looked very small in the big bed, and very tired. He barely raised his head off the pillow when Esca entered his small cubicle, though he managed a weak smile for his saviour. The arm he’d cut was neatly wrapped with a clean white bandage, and in the other a needle from the drip above the bed entered his skin. Gone were the ruined club clothes, replaced with a hospital gown, though Esca noticed his jumper was still tucked around the kid’s shoulders. He wondered if Jack had insisted it stayed.

Esca avoided the hand with the drip feed, and instead moved to Jack’s other side, taking the hand gently, trying not to bump the bandaged arm. For a minute neither said anything, just stared at each other, until Esca stroked a finger tenderly over the edge of the bandage, and Jack closed his eyes in shame.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, “but I couldn’t see another way out.”

“I understand,” Esca said, keeping his voice even. “The nurse says you’re going to be fine.” He paused. “What did he do to you?” He asked quietly, but Jack shook his head.

“I don’t want to think about it,” he pleaded.

“Alright,” Esca soothed, keeping up the stroking of the hand, since he couldn’t currently reach the kid’s back. He didn’t want to go upsetting him now.

“I’m glad you came back for me.” Jack said suddenly. “What will happen now?”

“Well, I have to go and call Marcus, then I suppose we move on,” Esca mused. “We got away, didn’t we?” He smiled down at the boy and received one back.

“We got away,” the kid echoed, looking relieved.

“I’ll let you rest,” Esca said, standing up and tenderly pecking a kiss on Jack’s forehead. “I’ll be right outside if you want me.”

“Thanks Esca,” he yawned. “For everything.”

OOO

Esca stepped out of the cubicle and drew the curtain again, walking over to the desk where the nurse was waiting.

“Ready to sign those forms?”

“I need to make a phone call first,” Esca said, pulling out a note carefully from the stash in his pocket. “Can you change this into coins?”

In front of the pay phone, he dropped the coins in before nervously dialling Marcus’ mobile number. It rang and rang before finally clicking over to the answer machine.

“Marcus,” he started carefully, “It’s Esca. I’m at the hospital with Jack. If you still want to help, I suppose you could come here...” he paused, wasting valuable seconds. “If I don’t hear from you before tomorrow night, I have money. I’ll take the kid myself and we’ll disappear,” he rushed, before anxiously slamming down the phone. He noticed the nurse gazing at him curiously as he returned to the desk again and wondered how much she’d heard.

She handed over the form and indicated what he’d need to fill in, still fixing him under her evaluative stare. As Esca was writing down the kid’s name, she ventured, “I’m not supposed to pry when we get a self-harm, that’s the psychologist’s job, but are you two alright?”

Esca stared hard at the next line on the form that read ‘ _patient’s next of kin’_ whilst he considered the question.

“We’re going to be just fine now,” he said finally, filling in his own name in the space. Jack was family, that much he was sure of. “What do I put here?” He indicated a section about who the hospital should contact when Jack was ready to be released.

“A number we should call to have the boy picked up,” the nurse explained. “He needs to be discharged by a specialist. The number doesn’t have to be yours, if you can’t stay.” She saw Esca hesitating about what to put and asked kindly, “do you have somewhere to go?”

Esca involuntarily looked over at the phone he’d called Marcus on. He wrote down his mobile number, hoping he wasn’t making a huge mistake in entrusting Jack’s safety to him. There was one more question on the form, about confidentiality, asking who was allowed to know Jack was here. Esca wrote ‘ _no-one’_ , circled it and underlined it twice, earning a raised eyebrow from the nurse.

“This is very important,” Esca told her seriously, tapping it with the pen. “If anyone comes looking for Jack, please tell them he’s not here. Or me, I suppose,” he added, almost as an afterthought.

“Fine.” The nurse kept her features smooth and unreadable.

“Thanks,” Esca said gratefully, looking over at the phone again.

“Waiting for somebody?” She asked curiously.

“He’ll be here,” Esca said confidently, it sounding a whole lot more definite than he felt inside. He left the desk and went back to Jack’s cubicle again. The kid was asleep, head tucked neatly into Esca’s jumper, a peaceful expression on his face. Esca dragged the chair close to the bed and settled his head down on the blanket for a moment. It was all up to Marcus now, he thought, and closed his weary eyes.

OOO

When the sun rose a little after 5am, Marcus was jolted wide awake from some nightmare, and the first thing he did was reach for his phone to check the time. It wasn’t there, so he dragged himself out of bed to fetch it from where he remembered slinging it on the kitchen table the afternoon before, after the unsuccessful escape attempt.

He wasn’t at all surprised to see his uncle sitting at the table reading the previous day’s sports pages. His uncle had always been a horribly early riser, a habit left over from his own army days. Now it seemed Marcus was inheriting his ways. He pressed the button on his phone that made the screen light up and realised he had a voice message.

Yawning, he picked it up to listen. As the phone was raised to his ear, the weariness on his face was replaced by an expression of growing horror, and by the time the message had played, Marcus was twitching in agitation.

“They’re at the hospital,” he said, dumbfounded. His uncle did not have to ask who, just looked at him pointedly. Marcus took the hint, and ignored his cramping leg to charge back into his room to throw on clothes and pick up the holdall that he hadn’t bothered unpacking.

“Remember exactly what I said last night,” his uncle reminded him as he materialised back in the kitchen to grab car keys. “I’m prepared to help, if you need me...”

“I’ll call,” Marcus remembered. His uncle clapped him on the back by way of farewell, them both having already said their long goodbyes the day before when Marcus had first set out to pick up Esca.

Fifteen minutes after he’d woken, Marcus Aquila was rapidly reversing his car off the driveway to get to the hospital.

 


	12. Twelve

At a quarter to six in the morning, Marcus knew A&E would be chaos, and he judged from the time of the message that Esca wouldn’t be there any more anyway. He headed instead for the nearest department where he hoped he’d be able to at least get information on their whereabouts.

He was greeted by a tired looking nurse at the end of her shift. “Can I help you?”

“Is there a man called Esca being looked after in your department, and a kid, Jack?” He demanded. “Would have come in last night, real skinny boy, and a short-ish muscular guy with him, might have given his own name as ‘Alexander’?”

“I’m sorry,” the nurse began carefully, seeming to be looking at something on a paper in front of her, “we don’t give out confidential information about patients.”

“So they _are_ patients? Please, I just need you to tell me if they were here,” he insisted. “It’s important, the older one was expecting me. My name is Marcus Aquila.”

The nurse squinted at him as if she were evaluating him. She wasn’t the only one looking- Marcus had thrown on both parts of his uniform, leaving his plain black jacket in the car, and the swathes of camo were drawing a few stares from passersby. Marcus reached for his tags to prove who he was only to remember they were wrapped up in the holdall, also in the car, and his military tags wouldn’t get him far here anyway – it was a civilian hospital, after all.

“Look,” he said in exasperation, “you can tell him Marcus came by and is looking for him, if you can’t tell me where he is.”

As he turned away he could swear he heard his name being called, so he spun around to see where it was coming from. A curtain was ripped back from a cubicle a little way away from the desk and a scruffy man tripped out, in such excited haste he was being waylaid by his own feet.

“Marcus, is that you?” He was calling, looking around the department for him. When the man finally clapped eyes on the ex-soldier, Marcus could have sworn time had stopped. Something pulled in his chest and he was hit with such a longing it took his breath away. He was immediately certain that he’d made the right choice in getting involved with Esca, for it was Esca alright, detangling himself from the curtain to rush towards him, as Marcus took a few steps on wobbly legs.

The force of Esca’s fierce hug nearly knocked him backwards, and for a minute they just stood, Marcus’ arms around the smaller man, Esca’s head pressed against his chest, eyes tightly screwed shut and hands clamped on the fabric of his shirt as he clung to Marcus like he’d never let go, making an exhibition of their reunion even in front of all the other patients and staff.

“You came,” he said in a choked voice, the first time Marcus had ever heard him use such a tone, and he realised with a jolt that he really had been this extraordinarily strong man’s last hope. Marcus had seen such raw displays of fury and determination from the dancer in the weeks since they had met, but never the vulnerability Esca was now displaying so publicly. Any last vestiges of hope would have been destroyed had he not shown up today.

“I promised,” he murmured, cradling Esca’s head with a hand and resting his chin on the top of his head. Over at the desk, the nurse was gazing at them with an expression of realisation and relief, a smile tugging up the corners of her lips.

OOO

Once he’d established that the blood on Esca’s clothes wasn’t his own and discovered where it had come from, Marcus asked to see the kid. Esca went in to him first, sitting him up and gently murmuring to the freshly awakened, heavily drugged boy that they had a visitor before beckoning Marcus in.

“How are you doing, Jack?” Marcus hovered awkwardly at the foot of the bed.

“Much better thank you,” Jack said politely, taking care not to slur his words. He lifted up the hand his drip feed entered. “Whatever’s in these things is great.” He sat up a little straighter and fixed his eyes determinedly upon Marcus. “If you’re here, it means we’re safe.”

“It does.”

“Then are you going to take Esca away like you promised, and keep him that way?”

“I am,” Marcus began, earning a surprised look from Esca, who was staring back and forth as if he couldn’t believe what plot they had cooked up between them. He moved and took a seat next to the bed so he could look at Jack properly without Esca hovering in his eye line.

“I also have a plan to take care of you.”

“You do?” The kid was surprised.

“I live with my uncle, who is ex-military like myself, and he has offered his help in keeping you safe.” He glanced briefly at Esca to see what he made of this, but the dancer was unreadable, so he turned back to Jack. “If you’d like that, if you don’t have anywhere else to go, I can have him pick you up from the hospital and you can stay with him.”

“You’d do that for me?” Jack was stunned. 

“I care about Esca, and he cares about you.” Marcus shrugged. He felt a squeeze on his shoulder and heat flared in his cheeks.

Jack gazed from one to the other, a smile spreading across his face. “You know, I’ve never seen you out of a suit,” he remarked idiotically, his pain medication starting to kick in again now he was awake. “Alright, I shall accept your uncle’s kind offer.”

OOO

Marcus made arrangements, confirming the paperwork Esca had filled in whilst the dancer- now ex-dancer, Marcus realised- said goodbye to the kid and helped him get dressed. Jack had expressed a wish to see them gone as soon as possible, as he was completely convinced that the boss was on their tail.

Through a gap in the curtain, Marcus saw Esca hugging the kid and rubbing his back soothingly, muttering into his ear before gently laying him back down on the pillows. He kissed two fingers and laid them tenderly on the bandaged arm. Marcus looked around quickly, not wanting to intrude on such a moment, but found he couldn’t tear his eyes away. Jack was smiling, a happy, serene expression quite different to that of the grimace Marcus had seen him wear in the club. Esca rose and ruffled the kid’s hair before giving him a final peck on the forehead.

“I’m leaving the rucksack with you,” he said to the kid as Marcus entered. “I’ll ring and check up on you, and when things have settled down we can meet up again, okay?”

“Thanks for everything, Esca.”

“See you soon, Jack.” Esca stepped outside, leaving Marcus to say his goodbyes.

“It has been a pleasure knowing you, Jack,” Marcus said, “and I have to thank you for your part in helping me get you both out of there,” though he looked regretful as he indicated the bandage. “I only wish it hadn’t taken you getting hurt.”

“It’ll heal,” Jack smiled, “and I’m glad to have been introduced to you as well. Your uncle is very kind to take me in.”

“He’ll be happy to. He never had kids of his own, and I don’t think I was quite what he hoped for,” Marcus laughed. “You’ll get on well with him. He’ll be here when they discharge you.”

 “Go now with Esca then,” Jack said. “I know how impatient he gets when it comes to you.”

“Look after yourself, kid.” Marcus laid a hand briefly on his shoulder in farewell.

“You look after _him_ , Marcus,” Jack said firmly.

Marcus ducked out and closed the curtain finally. Esca was waiting impatiently as Jack had said he would be, but his face broke into such a grin when he saw Marcus, he knew everything was going to be just fine.

OOO

In the car park, Esca followed Marcus amicably to the car, although neither of them spoke. He sensed Esca’s presence behind him as he bent to unlock the car door, and Esca’s true intentions revealed themselves when he straightened up again and turned around.

The heat and lust in his eyes was undeniable, but Marcus had only a split-second to process this before Esca was pressing him firmly back against the door of the car and standing on tiptoe to cover Marcus’ lips with his own. As Marcus’ ass hit metal and Esca leaned into him, the thought crossed his mind in outrage that Esca was having his wicked way at last and not at all how Marcus had planned. In a hospital car park of all places! Soon enough though, his annoyance faded and all thoughts were focused on the task at hand.

Marcus tasted Esca’s soft lips eagerly; arms slipping around him to nestle against his body in exactly the way he had fantasised about but had never dared attempt at the club. Esca’s lips parted and Marcus echoed the movement, sliding his hands down to cradle Esca’s firm ass before giving him a little lift. Esca made a noise of surprise that turned to delight as he wrapped his legs around Marcus and allowed himself to be turned to sit on the car bonnet, a position that was the perfect angle from which to deepen their kiss.

Their tongues danced excitedly over each other, and Esca leaned back slightly to see if Marcus would follow him down, a challenge that Marcus accepted with gusto, kissing Esca slowly and thoroughly, taking his time just like he’d promised, a sexually-charged procession that led to them both gasping for breath.

“That was probably the best kiss of my life!” Marcus murmured, one hand on the bonnet supporting himself, the other tangled in Esca’s hair.

“Only probably?” Esca teased, a glint in his eye, shifting his hips slightly, perfectly aware of their close proximity.

“Definitely then,” Marcus confirmed, “and you know if we kiss like that again I’m going to want to take you right here on the car, witnesses be damned.”

This earned a loud, genuine laugh from Esca, already half-laid out across the hood. Witnesses were in fact passing by that very second, frowning a little when they saw Esca’s position and Marcus stepping back innocently, a sight to behold in his army uniform.

“Shall we continue this discussion elsewhere?” Esca suggested. Marcus, being happy to oblige, gave him a hand off the car.

“Was I worth it then?” Esca asked lightly on the way out of town, still trembling from all the nervous energy he’d expended to get to the hospital, the same energy he’d transferred into kissing Marcus, just in case the opportunity had never come along.

“Esca, you know that kiss was worth it,” Marcus winked. “I wonder what else you’ve got to show me.”

They both stared out of their respective windows, smirks written all over their faces, but both knowing their journey wasn’t quite over yet.

 

 


	13. Thirteen

After a specialist had been in to see him and declared that he was at no further risk of self-harm, the hospital had no choice but to call the number they’d been given and discharge Jack. He was only too glad to be moving on, worrying about the boss who was missing his two captives. Esca had done everything he could to get Jack out of the club with minimal witnesses, but a skinny boy covered in his own blood who had entered the hospital in a stripper’s outfit would be easy to find for someone with as many resources as the boss had.

He was surprised to find out that even though Esca had left the rucksack, most of the clothes were still in it, and when he was getting dressed he was even more surprised to find, in the pocket of Esca’s favourite hooded jumper, now obviously bequeathed to him, a substantial roll of more money than Jack had ever seen in his life. Jack closed his eyes for a moment and hugged his arms to himself, breathing in the scent from the jumper that was comforting and familiar- a scent that had surrounded him every night since he’d first arrived at the club. Despite them being similar heights, Jack had been smaller in body than Esca, who had built up stronger muscles and a stockier frame from his time dancing and stripping at the club. The hoodie was slightly too big for him. This did not matter to Jack though, who felt an overwhelming sense of safety in its folds.

He drew back his hospital curtain cautiously. A new, older nurse was manning the desk, and a white-haired man was leaning against it, obviously charming her.

“Here he is,” the man beamed with such genuine warmth, Jack felt instantly relaxed. There was something about his features that seemed familiar, and Jack realised, as he saw the eyebrows knit together in concentration, that he shared undeniable characteristics with Marcus. This had to be his uncle, just like they’d discussed. He came over to help Jack firmly shoulder the rucksack, and Jack understood his intent and kept silent whilst the last of the paperwork was signed. Then Marcus’ uncle placed a gentle guiding hand on his back and steered him out of the ward.

“William Aquila,” Marcus’ uncle said formally, dropping the pretence in the car park and shaking Jack’s hand. “I trust Marcus told you I’d be looking after you?”

“Jack,” he replied gratefully. “Thanks for picking me up and agreeing to help me.”

“Oh it’s really no trouble,” William Aquila assured him as they walked to the car. “It will be nice to have some young blood around whilst Marcus is up north with Esca; keep me active.”

“Is that where they’ve gone then?” Jack asked interestedly. “Somewhere safe?”

“Oh, Esca will be quite safe with Marcus,” the old man said confidently, correctly reading Jack’s anxious face. “I’ve never seen that boy care so much about anyone else before.”

“Good.” Jack nodded. “Esca deserves someone to care for him, after all he did for me.” He looked down at his arms guiltily, though the bandages were covered by the hoodie.

“I’m sure you did what you had to,” William said causally. “Never had the pleasure of conversation with Esca, though I saw him when he and Marcus first met.”

They reached the car, a small but clean runaround, and William Aquila said, “I expect they’ll call later on. You can talk to Esca then if you wish.”

“I’d like to,” Jack settled gratefully into the front seat.

They didn’t say much the rest of the journey but it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence. William Aquila pulled onto a driveway in a quiet street in the suburbs, and Jack looked about him in interest. It looked like a good neighbourhood, the gardens well kept and clean cars on the driveway. There were perhaps a few nosy curtain twitchers who were sure to know of and speculate about his arrival, but otherwise Jack felt much more secure than at the hospital. The boss would have a hard time tracing him here.

Inside, uncle Aquila showed him to the room Marcus had vacated, and Jack was surprised to find it bare of most possessions.

“Marcus didn’t bring much,” he shrugged when he saw Jack’s surprise, “as he didn’t expect to be coming here at all.”

“Wounded in the army, right? I bet it was pretty hard on him,” Jack thought aloud, spotting a framed photograph of Marcus and his unit in the middle of the bookshelf. Marcus was at the front of the photo, holding a rifle proudly and grinning, another soldier resting his hand on his shoulder. It had obviously been taken before he’d been shot.

“He was pretty miserable for a while,” William admitted. “I knew, given time, his leg would heal, but I wasn’t certain about his mental state. Meeting Esca gave him hope.”

“I think Esca was the lucky one,” Jack replied. “Neither of us thought we’d get away until it happened.”

“Well, now that you are away, I’ll do my best to keep you that way.”

“Weren’t you in the military yourself... sir?” Jack asked politely, earning himself a chuckle from William Aquila.

“Please, William,” he said, “or uncle, if you’d prefer. We’re in this for the long-haul after all, if you don’t have anywhere else to be going. Yes, I was a military man, but an officer, not a soldier. Retired early when I decided I wanted to have a little more free time whilst I could still enjoy it.” He looked wistfully over at the picture again. “Marcus had just graduated to a command position when he was shot.” He shook his head a little. “Trying to rescue another unit, if you can believe it. I guess saving people is in his nature. I can move the picture, if you want the space?”

“No, leave it,” Jack replied. Uncle Aquila nodded and left him to settle in. Jack looked over at the picture again and slightly adjusted the frame to see it better. It reminded him of just what he was grateful for.

OOO

Somewhere on a motorway heading north, Esca rested his hand on Marcus’ leg for a moment, and pretended he didn’t feel it twitch.  

“Where are you taking me?” He asked interestedly.

“It’ll be just a B&B tonight I’m afraid,” Marcus replied, reaching down to squeeze the hand. “We’ll get you some new clothes and anything else you need on the way. At the B&B I’ll need to call and make final some plans I made for longer-term.”

“You’re with me long-term then?” Esca sounded hopeful. He was thinking about their relationship, but also about a second plan of his own - he’d given half the money to the kid and wasn’t sure he could risk it alone yet. Marcus might have romantic notions in his head now his dancer appeared safe from harm, but all Esca had seen and endured had served to make him into a most practical man.

“Of course, if you want me.” Marcus shrugged, appearing also to have a second plan. “I’ve got a deposit down on a long-term holiday let close to the border; some woodland lodges that are quite secluded. Your boss will have a hard time tracking you there.”

“I’m mostly worried for Jack,” Esca replied truthfully, taking back his hand and glaring stonily out of his window again. “The situation both of us were in? There’s no way he won’t be looking for us.”

At this, Marcus unconsciously put his foot down harder on the accelerator, making haste to their destination.


	14. Fourteen

William Aquila had busied himself all afternoon until teatime, when Jack emerged from the bedroom on the brink of tears, holding out his arm ashamedly, the bandage dangling awkwardly from it.

“I can’t tie it,” he declared, trying not to let his bottom lip wobble at the mess he’d made trying to take care of it himself.

“I didn’t expect you to,” Uncle Aquila cried, coming over to steer him over to the table in a fatherly manner.

They sat in comfortable silence, the stubbornness slowly subsiding from the boy as the older man’s gentle hands removed the bandage and checked and cleaned the stitches, not commenting nor raising so much as an eyebrow at the damage Jack had done to himself, though the boy became quite agitated at how bruised his arm looked when he risked a glance downwards. Uncle Aquila could only guess that he was thinking about what had happened to him that had led to so much pain, and wished he could take on Jack’s mental burden as well as responsibility for his physical care.

“What did you say when Marcus told you he liked men?” Jack blurted out quite unexpectedly, and uncle Aquila sat back for a minute, still holding Jack’s arm carefully.

“Marcus didn’t explicitly tell me,” William began. “He and I never had too many lengthy discussions, even when he lived here as a child after his father died.”

Jack seemed to be curious, so he continued. “We found a quiet understanding, Marcus and I. Did you know I was the one who first introduced him to the Eagles Club?” There was a slight twinkle in his eye. “I thought it would do him some good. If Marcus’ father could see either of us now, he’d be spinning in his grave... but fathers never seem to truly understand their sons.” He shrugged and continued to check Jack’s arm, making sure no stitches were torn and that the area was clean and dry before starting to re-wrap it with a fresh dressing.

“I don’t think my father ever understood me,” Jack said quietly. He avoided Uncle Aquila’s kindly eyes and instead picked a spot on the table to glare fiercely at. “It all started a year or two ago, when mine found some drawings I’d done of a boy I thought I liked, and confronted me about it...”

_Jack leapt up guiltily, trying to cover up what was on his desk as his father slammed open the door to his room, brandishing a pile of papers. Jack had heard him coming – those footsteps were unmistakable – but not in enough time to react._

_“What the fuck is this?!” The man shouted, waving the papers around. Jack flinched away until he saw a delicate line of his own on one of them, making a sudden snatch for them._

_“Where did you find them?” He cried, when he failed to liberate them from his father’s grasp, who was holding them over his head like Jack was a little boy again._

_“Are you going to tell me why you’ve been drawing this same boy over and over again?” The man ignored his son’s question._

_When Jack refused to answer – he could faintly smell alcohol on his father’s breath – the man angrily slapped the wall with the drawings, knocking off a girly pin-up poster in the process. “Is this a lie?!” His voice cracked._

_“No, dad!” Jack pleaded. “They’re just drawings. I haven’t been doing anything.”_

_“They’re all of the same boy. Why are they all of the same boy? Have you got some sick crush on him?”_

_Jack took a moment to marvel in his own handiwork, though he didn’t let it show. If his half-drunk father could tell the drawings were all supposed to be the same boy, and modelled on a real person, then there was hope for his artistic talents after all. He shrugged. “He’s my friend.”_

_“Just a friend?” His father’s eyes narrowed. They each stared the other down. Jack nearly had him convinced, until he happened to glance instinctively over at the desk. Not very well-buried on it was a blurry photograph of a boy smiling, with one hand up to his mouth, biting the skin on his thumb flirtatiously. Next to the photo lay a huge sketchbook with Jack’s latest design. The face was the same as in the picture, but extended upon the body just out of shot. In Jack’s sketch, the boy was relaxing back on a couch with one knee up, wearing a shirt that gaped open just a little, the rest of the clothes not yet defined. The boy’s other hand was resting down near his groin, the hand looking like it was supposed to rest in a belt loop when the clothes were finished. Jack had been in the process of re-doing it until it looked right – he was best at faces, not hands._

“Anyway, I couldn’t hide that I had more than friendly feelings for him when he saw that and he wasn’t too impressed, telling me not to see him anymore which only pushed me towards him. I became absolutely fixated on this boy that was supposedly forbidden.” He broke away from uncle Aquila, cheeks burning as he spilled all. “I’d take any opportunity to get close to him. Soon I was hanging around with him all the time, even when he started doing things I didn’t like...”

_“Come on Jack, just one.”_

_“No, I don’t want one.”_

_“I’ll let you take another picture for you to practice your drawing later?”_

_“No, I don’t like alcohol. My dad drinks and he’s disgusting. You have one if you want. Can we go to the gallery again after? I liked their new art collection.”_

_“I’m amazed you can’t already remember exactly what’s in there,” the boy rolled his eyes jokingly, returning the bottle he’d been holding to the fridge. “Like another home to you, isn’t it? I’ll come with you, but you owe me one later.”_

_Outside, Jack followed him meekly as he led the way, doing most of the talking. The subject moved onto girls, and Jack felt a prickle of annoyance that shared traits with jealousy as his boy described a new interest of his, some blonde bit that had started apprenticing at the salon next to the shop he worked part time at. She was apparently single and he thought he’d got it pretty well worked out. Blonde and female; two traits Jack did not share._

_“What would she see in a 17 year old like you?” Jack teased, privately thinking he could see a great deal, and his boy shrugged._

_“18 soon, aren’t I, and then I can take her out to a club.”_

_Jack laughed, but didn’t say any more. Browsing the art gallery was more his idea of a romantic afternoon, and worth far more than just a picture to pine over later, but he’d be mortified if his friend ever found out about that._

“This boy found out about my feelings eventually, when he asked to see one of my drawings. He knew I was using his pictures to practice, and I wouldn’t have put it past my dad to have told him what they were about in an attempt to separate us. I was terrified that he’d push me away too, but the weird thing was, he didn’t seem to mind.”

_“You have an expressive face,” Jack struggled out. The boy was staring at one drawing in particular, drawn from a shot Jack had taken on his phone once, when they were at the park, bumping an old basketball about. The boy didn’t think he’d kept the photo, never mind drawn something from it. The body was a little rough and quickly sketched, but there wasn’t a hair nor pore out of place on the face._

_“I like it,” he nodded. “You draw well. Perhaps I should sit still for you sometime, have you take my portrait properly.”_

_Jack was pleased. “I’d like that,” he replied shyly. When he took the paper back from the boy, their hands brushed briefly._

“I started getting into trouble because I’d do anything for him. At first it was small things, like nicking a chocolate bar from a shop to give to him, but one day the police brought me home with a warning for vandalising a wall with spray paint. I don’t know what I was thinking. I’d been drawing him like I used to, except on a bigger canvas this time, stylising his face to try to impress him. I thought perhaps that would finally make him feel the same way. I was about to turn 18 as well, and the idea of him taking this girl out instead of me...” He choked over his words, but nothing could stop them pouring from him now.

_Jack could tell his dad was livid, and swore to himself, as he was led up the path, that he’d end his infatuation with his friend. The boy either liked him back or didn’t, was gay or wasn’t, and no amount of chocolate bars and dumb pictures would turn that around._

_Gay. The word sat uncomfortably with Jack, who’d never had much experience with either sex beyond silly games of spin the bottle, and couldn’t say with certainty if he fancied all men or just had a soft spot for this one in particular. His boy’s face was undeniably pretty and his pout translated well in a sketchbook, but did that mean Jack wanted his lips all over him as well as his paper?_

_His dad spoke politely and nodded in the right places and kept a tight smile cracked on his face whilst the police were there, and in return they pretended they couldn’t tell he’d been drinking. They left Jack with a stern lecturing, at the mercy of his old man, who to them seemed a perfectly reasonable sort of father, obviously worried about his wayward son._

“Tossed a bag of my stuff right on the doorstep and told me I’d be better off with this boy,” Jack snorted, abruptly banging his arm down on the table again for uncle Aquila to continue tending. “Lucky he didn’t throw me on the floor after it. I went and found my boy, only this time it was different. He’d got a whole bunch of these other guys with him and I knew they were all trouble. Some of them had been picked up by the police before for far worse things than me.”

_Jack tagged along with the motley bunch to the horse races, having nowhere else to go and not daring to risk going home after the ear-bending his father had given him, in case he decided verbal punishment wasn’t enough. His boy had grudgingly agreed to let him stay the night, but Jack didn’t know how long he could count on that. He decided to help his friend place some bets, hoping that if he made him some money, he’d be able to stay a bit longer._

“They didn’t have much money to start off with, so their strategy was to scam other people out of theirs. The boy I liked pointed out this well-dressed man in the bar upstairs and told me he should be my next target, knowing I’d do anything he said.”

Jack shook his head. “It was the big boss man,” he said regretfully.

_Jack knew instantly he’d made a big mistake. This man’s stare pierced him, and couldn’t have looked more violated had Jack been rummaging in his underpants and not his pockets. Obviously he was a man that kept his money close to his heart, sacrificing it only for designer suits and fast cars, for he certainly looked the part._

_“What have we here?” He asked icily, weighing up Jack’s appearance like a piece of meat. Perhaps objects weren’t the only thing he spent his money on. “Another boy, up to boy’s tricks?”_

_“Please sir, there’s been a mistake. I’m sorry to have bothered you.”_

_“I don’t think it was your idea to bother me, am I correct?” The man reached out for Jack’s chin, tilting his head this way and that, finally seeming satisfied with his appraisal, which left Jack’s skin tingling. “Either way, I may have a use for a boy like you.”_

“He asked the other boys if I was with them, and my so-called friend looked him dead in the eye and lied about never seeing me before to save his own skin. That’s when the boss took a proper interest in me. He said he wouldn’t report me to anyone if I’d just sit with him a while and have a drink with him. I was so heartbroken at being abandoned by that boy that I let this strange man get me drunk. It was the first time I’d ever been drunk in my life, and I told him everything.”

“As soon as he heard that I had no family anymore either, that was good enough, and he stole me away to that vile club of his. That’s when I realised he also only wanted me because I could make him some money.”

He exhaled loudly and snapped his mouth closed, as if he didn’t know where this flood of words had come from, though he’d confessed it all once before to the man he now owed his very life to. He’d taken a while to warm up to Esca, even after that dreadful first night when he’d been looked after better than he’d dared hope. Only when Marcus was firmly in the picture, and Esca still had refused to abandon him, did he reveal everything he’d endured up to his 18th birthday.

Uncle Aquila calmly finished re-tying the bandage around Jack’s arm, knowing he’d faced further trials at the club, but content to let them lie for another day, until the boy trusted him as well.

“You won’t be thrown out of here,” he said firmly. “I may not be well-versed in what goes through the heads of young men nowadays, but there’s nothing you could do or say that would make me change my mind. You have a home here as long as you need it.”


	15. Fifteen

Marcus fidgeted about on the edge of his bed nervously as he heard the shower in the bathroom of the adjoining suite switch off, feeling like a silly teenager all over again. The shower of his own that he’d taken – cold- had done nothing to calm him down now he was finally alone with his dancer.

Just before the door opened and Esca emerged, vigorously towelling his hair dry, Marcus pretended he wasn’t watching and waiting and instead grabbed the nearest magazine to feign interest in. Esca leaned casually in the doorframe of their adjoining rooms, head tilted slightly with amusement as he tried to figure out why Marcus was holding the paper upside down.

“This isn’t my first time alone with a man, Marcus,” he remarked, a smug smile playing about his lips as he flicked his head towel over his shoulder and swaggered over to where the ex-soldier was sitting. Esca had changed into some of the new clothes they’d stopped to buy earlier that day, and had selected a plain pair of tracksuit bottoms and an overly-large hooded sweatshirt, primarily for comfort.

It wasn’t quite the stage outfit Marcus had been used to, and something about Esca’s choice of words also made him hesitant, forcing his mind to consider avenues other than sex. He put the magazine aside carefully, realising he knew little about the man in front of him whom he had become somewhat closely acquainted with.

“How did you come to dance at the Eagles Club?” He asked curiously, and cautiously.

“Are you sure you want to hear it?” Esca parked himself down next to Marcus. “My life hasn’t exactly been glamorous.”

“I’d like to hear it, if you’ll tell it to me.”

“Well, I started my career in stripping as a banquet waiter,” Esca began, a smirk tugging up the corners of his mouth again as he remembered better days. “Topless. We’d parade around in bow ties like the male equivalent of playboy bunnies and it was mostly women we catered for, back then. The money was okay as they were the rich types, either from old money or had married their husband’s credit cards. You’d usually get a generous tip at the end of the night if the ladies had had a bit too much champagne and saw fit to tuck their precious notes under your belt for safekeeping after they’d handled the goods.”

Marcus was silent, so Esca continued. “A lot of the men doing it were gay – you’d have to be, to let the women act as some of them did and not take it anywhere. One or two sized up my potential to take more than just my top off, and I started doing a bit of dancing and stripping with them, just one or two nights a week, at both gay and straight venues. I needed the money, but I enjoyed myself at the same time.”

Marcus winced, wondering where the boss was going to come in to the tale. He was interested in hearing just how a headstrong man like Esca had been pinned down by such a powerful character, as surely it couldn’t all be about making money for himself.

He was right.

“I was quickly becoming a favourite with a regular customer of mine at the clubs, who tipped very well. It seemed he’d been evaluating my potential as well, since one day he offered me obscene amounts of money to recruit me into his own business – an escort service.” At this, Esca swore.

“I should have known better than that, but he was intense, and I was attracted by him. Soon I was off the club circuit and working as an escort full-time, having a secretive relationship with my sponsor on the side. It wasn’t quite the boyfriend experience as I was still being paid. My old man had gotten himself into debt with a loan-shark type, totally illegitimate business, and I was trying to help him out of it the only way I knew how.”

Marcus looked away in disbelief, needing a second to gather his thoughts. He knew where the story was going and barely knew how to react. His own life had been luxurious in comparison, never having any concerns about family, money or sex. His parents had been long dead by the time Marcus began to accept himself over the latter point, but he’d had the support of his uncle the whole way, and had never put himself in danger over it. Esca clearly hadn’t been as lucky.

“Don’t want me to go on?” Esca demanded, frustrated at the thought that they’d come this far and his saviour was ashamed of him, and Marcus quickly met his eyes again, letting him know this wasn’t the case. He’d hear the tale to the bitter end. As he had done once before in a cafe, Esca spilled all.

“I was little better than his whore, although it gets worse. I got too close to his private affairs, as is usually the case when you spend so much time in someone’s bed, and I discovered all sorts about his other business ventures. Turns out that my ‘sponsor’ was the same person my father owed his debt to, and as soon as this was in the open, he tried to use me to pull some heavy leverage with my old man.”

“I’m guessing that plan backfired?” Marcus ventured.

“You already know me better than he did,” Esca snorted. “I should have realised sooner how corrupt the boss man was, and how powerful, having so many people in his pocket, but I’d been blinded by my own circumstances and I hated him. I never let him fuck me again.” Esca looked as if he wanted to spit.

“I knew too much, and he couldn’t risk letting me go. He forced me into his club, where I’ve been under his close watch ever since.”

“Your family?” Marcus whispered.

“Gone.” Esca said shortly. “Implicated me in it, I’d bet, just for an extra layer of security.”

“I’m sorry,” Marcus replied genuinely, knowing now why Esca had danced with such anger at the club.

“Having second thoughts yet?” Esca asked flatly.

“Never,” Marcus said sadly. “I really do understand now, that’s all.”

Esca blew out a long breath and got up to pace up and down the room to break some of the tension.

“I wouldn’t be here now if you were like the others,” he admitted eventually. “I let them take me into the private rooms, Marcus, but I never let them touch me. The only hands I wanted on me were yours.” He came to crouch in front of the bed, and took the ex-soldier’s hands. Uncomfortable with the former slave kneeling at his feet after the story he’d just told, Marcus slithered to the floor to join him.

“Didn’t that kiss earlier tell you anything?” Esca teased gently, cupping one side of Marcus’ face to look at him properly. “I’m ready to start the next chapter.” They shared a comfortable peck or two to reassure themselves of it, before Marcus gave a relieved sigh, picking them both up off the ground firmly, determining nothing more would happen that night.

“You need to call Jack,” he reminded Esca, handing over his phone. “You did half your time in the club to protect him; he needs to hear you’re safe in return.”

“You want to talk to your uncle afterwards?” Esca asked, searching for the number.

“No need, you can take it into the other room. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Esca smiled gratefully, giving him a careful kiss on the cheek before returning to his adjoining suite for the night. They had covered some ground tonight, but secretly both men were quite pleased to have a door between them. Sharing a bed could come later – for now, they both had a few things to reflect on.


	16. Sixteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Additional warnings apply this chapter.

“He’s safe,” Jack smiled, returning the phone to Uncle Aquila. “I think I’ll head to bed myself now. Thanks for everything today.”

“Anytime,” Uncle Aquila nodded, staying put at the kitchen table. “Is there anything else you need?”

Jack privately thought he’d quite like a sketchbook and some pencils; talking about his old hobby had reminded him that he used to draw to relax, but he wasn’t sure what would come out when the pencil touched the paper, and he had neither with him anyway. Instead, he just shook his head.

“I’m heading into town tomorrow morning,” Uncle Aquila told him, seeming to almost read his mind. “You’re welcome to join me or stay here, it’s entirely up to you.”

“I’ll come with you,” Jack offered. It would be good to get out in daylight, like a normal person, and perhaps after all he could get the sketchbook and pencils he was coveting with the money Esca had left. Jack hadn’t been held captive at the club all that long, certainly not as long as Esca, but he was determined to put the experience behind him as quickly as he could.

He went to bed with a light heart, although it took him a while to drop off, arms hugged around himself. The big bed felt somewhat cold and empty on his own without Esca’s heat that he’d grown used to sharing. He fell asleep smiling, thinking about Esca, far away from here and safe, perhaps now sharing his heat with Marcus instead.   

OOO

In silence the following morning, Jack had held his bandaged arm out to Uncle Aquila, and the former army officer checked the stitches and re-dressed it with gentle hands and without comment, the boy screwing up his eyes so he didn’t see the wound he’d inflicted upon himself. After a careful shower he also attempted to hand over the money he’d been given, but William was having none of it, sending him away to get dressed as he tucked the money into an old leather wallet for him. Uncle Aquila couldn’t help but notice, as the towel slipped down on Jack’s retreating back, a number of heavy diagonal bruises that had just started to turn yellow at the edges. The placement of them suggested he had not given them to himself, raising more red flags than he’d previously dared think about, but Uncle Aquila did not mention the bruises.

Jack fidgeted in his seat all the way into town, not having been into a public place since his humiliation at the hands of his friend and the boss man at the racecourse, and William Aquila started having doubts about bringing him so soon into his recovery, until Jack asked in a small voice, “I’d like to go to the art shop.” William was pleased to accompany him there, making plans to take him to the gallery in a few weeks time when he was certain he’d forgotten all about his ‘friend’.

Happily, in an hour, Jack had a large book of quality paper tucked under his arm and a carrier bag full of supplies and was meandering around the market with Uncle Aquila, who was taking his time over the fruits and vegetables, engrossed in a mental checklist of groceries he wanted for the week. Idly, Jack trailed his hands over the edges of the tables, wondering if he should buy some fruit of his own to practice drawing _still_ life instead of human faces, when he saw, out of the corner of his eye, a profile that was unmistakeable.

The form of the young man had taken shape on his paper often enough that Jack would know it as well as his own, could draw it as easily as he drew breath, and now he nearly let his bag slip from his grasp in horror at this most unlucky coincidence. _His_ boy, a few tables away, holding hands with a blonde girl who was looking bored as he inspected some electronics. Jack clenched his fists and stood firmly – the boy hadn’t seen him yet.

The boy might not have seen him either, were it not for a man with a crate full of oranges hefted halfway up his chest, not seeing Jack’s slight form and bumping into him unceremoniously.

“Whoops, sorry,” the man gasped as the crate tilted, letting a few of the fruits roll to the floor, causing passersby to scrabble to pick them up. Jack tore his eyes away to help pick them up, but only a few had broken free and he didn’t need to crouch down. He hastily looked over at the other table again, and took a sharp intake of breath as he locked eyes with the friend who had betrayed him.

The colour had drained out of the other young man’s face, a reaction Jack was sure his own visage reflected. Jack found himself grasping a handful of Uncle Aquila’s coat with his bandaged arm that had started to prickle unpleasantly, and the man looked to him in surprise. The blonde girl was also gazing curiously over at him, but it seemed she did not know him nor his history with her apparent date, as she tugged on his arm to get his attention again. Slowly, the boy let his eyes drift over Jack as if he’d never seen him at all, and he turned away, seeming to make up his mind about something, moving out of the market and pulling the girl along behind him.

An unsettling feeling crept over Jack as he saw his friend hasten suspiciously away, and he tugged at Uncle Aquila’s arm urgently, suddenly aware of too many pairs of eyes on him, helplessly knowing he might not see a sharp-featured man with harshly cut facial hair watching him from the crowd until it was too late.

Uncle Aquila turned to go with the boy, figuring out who Jack had just seen and cursing himself for making the same mistake. Here they were, idling in broad daylight when Jack had dangerous people out looking for him! Jack half-ran back to the car and wordlessly buckled himself into the front seat, pawing at his bandage almost as if he was unaware he was doing it.  

OOO

“I tried to die,” Jack’s voice had grown hard as they gained the safety of the house again, the words bursting from him just as they had done the previous day. Uncle Aquila had been forced to reach over to still his hand. He’d been scraping so hard at the bandage that he was worried Jack would rip the stitches beneath. “I tried to die to escape him, and he’ll find me again to finish the job.”

_Jack climbed the steps with dread, hearing the tapping of the hated cane behind him. He considered running and stumbled over the ends of his pants, hitching them up as he subconsciously checked the tightness of his belt buckle._

_In the office, the boss left Jack standing in front of the desk, arms crossed vulnerably across himself as he went over to his stereo to put on some music. Painfully slowly, he turned and met Jack’s eyes as he loosened his tie before slithering it through his collar and dropping it on the floor._

_“Where is Alexander going?” He asked calmly, sidling around the desk and perching on the edge of the shiny leather seat behind it._

_Jack shook his head defiantly, as if he had no idea what his friend’s plans were, and the man scowled. “You’re too loyal,” he spat. He extended the cane and touched Jack’s cheek with the end of it, forcing his head back into a position where his eyes could pierce the boy’s. Jack identified the madness in them as he had glimpsed once before, and he shuddered._

_Abruptly, the man dropped the cane down again by his side, leaving a grubby smear on Jack’s cheek where he swiped it. “I have plans for you,” he remarked idly, inspecting his perfect nails to see if any dirt had gotten under them. “An associate of mine has offered far more money than you are worth to have your company for an evening.”_

_He began to twirl the golden eagle mounted atop the cane around idly, as if he was deciding what to do. “It doesn’t appear that your colleague is returning for you after all,” he suggested nastily. “I suppose this is all rather convenient. With your biggest protector out of the way, I am free to bring my plans to fruition.”_

_“You’re no more free than I am,” Jack spluttered at him, wounded by his comments about Esca. “Ruled by your dirty money, you...”_

_“Shut up,” the man snarled. “You’re going to my associate whether you like it or not, and now it’s my job to make sure you’re up to standards.” He pushed himself up from his chair and shrugged off his jacket, laying it carefully on the back of the leather and gesturing with the cane again as he stretched his neck from side to side, evaluating Jack dangerously. “Now be a good boy, and strip.”_

_Jack stayed put, covering himself as best he could with his arms, feeling naked even though he was still clothed in the waistcoat outfit he’d been forced to put on ten minutes before. He was painfully aware he’d worn it his first time on stage, when Esca had refused to let hungry eyes beyond the flimsy cloth._

_“Strip!” The boss roared, cracking his cane on the desk for added effect. Jack jumped, anger welling up in him. He thought desperately of his friend, each second taking him further away from the club, and he was fiercely glad that one of them had escaped. His own time had come._

_“Fuck you,” Jack uncrossed his arms defiantly, clenching his fists and gritting his teeth as he enunciated each syllable, barely knowing what he was doing as his adrenaline carried his mouth away with him._

_The effect was immediate and not entirely unexpected, the desk nearly tipping over as its owner launched himself at another of his possessions. Jack tripped again as he tried to get away, but the man tackled him and he was knocked into successive pieces of furniture, including the stereo that cut out  as they struggled unglamorously around the office before the boss triumphed over the skinny lad and kicked him to the floor._

_Jack landed hard, air knocked out of his lungs as he furiously thrashed to keep from being grabbed again, but the boss was kneeling by him and had a hold of his belt, tearing it loose and ripping a loop or two in the process. He folded it and raised it to strike as Jack cowered, holding up his hands to protect his face._

_“I’ll fuck you if that’s what you want,” the man hissed, brandishing the belt. Almost as if he’d made up his mind, he sneered, “that’ll be another way you’re the same as your little friend.” He snatched one of Jack’s arms and yanked him up sharply, using the momentum to push him face first over his big desk, cleared of nearly all items from their struggle only moments before._

_The young man had only a second to be bewildered at Esca’s having slept with their captor before, and wondered if he had done it for him, before his waistcoat was roughly torn away from his shoulders. Buttons flew off it as he pleaded his apologies and begged not to be roughly taken over the table. He dug his nails into it helplessly, arms still wrapped up in the waistcoat as the boss pinned him against the desk with his weight, reaching a hand around and struggling with his lower button and zip to strip him fully._

_Jack’s body, betraying him, obediently leapt into action, and the boy could have wept because of it. Wildly nauseated at being touched and absolutely certain he would not easily recover from was coming next, mentally or physically if he even survived at all, Jack searched for an escape, and his eyes fell upon the cane, abandoned and teetering at the very edge of the desk._

_He squirmed to free one of his arms and the boss’ attention was diverted as he forcefully held Jack’s torso down with the hand holding the folded belt, still trying to strip the boy and open his own fly with the other. Jack made a snatch at his only hope now Esca was not here to save him. His fingertips closed on the cane and he whipped it backwards, golden eagle flying around in a manoeuvre his friend would have been fiercely proud of as Jack dealt a weighty blow to the boss with it. The power trapping him simultaneously lessened with the dull thud that sounded very much like heavy bruising in the making._

_The boss bellowed and swung the belt reactively, not particularly aiming as he held a hand up to his brow, now bleeding profusely. Jack winced as the belt thumped into his back once or twice before he fought it off, summoning enough energy to throw himself off the table. Cane serving as a weapon, the golden eagle astride it tarnished with the blood of his enemy, Jack extended it as he scrabbled across the floor, hoping to hit his captor again and being granted his wish as the boss was tripped to the ground by his own instrument._

_The boy snatched up the fallen tie from earlier and dominated him immediately, forcing his knees into his chest as he bound the boss’ hands together with the tie, squeezing his throat savagely when it looked like his prisoner was still going to put up a fight. The boss croaked, limbs going limp in defeat, and Jack released his throat just as soon as his eyes flickered, the proximity to the boss’ skin burning him._

_“Fuck you,” he repeated again finally, spitting on the ground besides his face before finding his feet to stand over his former captor (and he supposed now, attempted rapist) who was too dazed to present any further threat._

_Drunk on adrenaline, Jack held onto the desk for support as he surveyed the office, fear creeping into his blood as he immediately realised the scene would look exactly like he’d attacked the man unprovoked. Who would the police believe if they turned up; the powerful man and his associates who’d have their jobs if he hadn’t already paid them off, or a sexually confused boy, barely 18 who had already been in trouble with the law and had left home to live in a strip club?_

_“I’ve still won,” the man on the floor wheezed, reading his thoughts, grinning even as his clotting head wound threatened him with unconsciousness. “You’re still mine.”_

_Jack fled from the office, down the basement stairs again, hoping whatever luck he’d had before would still be on his side and that he’d find Esca there waiting for him to tell him what their plan was next. This time, it wasn’t to be, and he was greeted by the same draughty room he’d slept in for weeks. A metal bedstead just like the one here would be waiting for him at whichever prison he’d be sent to, where he was sure much bigger men than his captor would be waiting to bend him over far dirtier furniture than a desk, and no Esca to protect him from them._

_A sob escaped Jack and he lurched to the bathroom, hanging his head over the toilet as he dry heaved. His hand closed on the porcelain sink for support and brushed a plastic razor handle, an idiotic plan of his own presenting itself. Crying solidly as he racked his brain for another solution and didn’t find it, he used the inside of his waistcoat for grip and prised the sharp metal from the handle. He kicked the door closed, locking it out of habit and facing the bath, rushing to run the taps as a vivid and unwelcome memory surfaced of having done this many times before to clean up his drunken father. He cursed aloud and pushed it from his mind, concentrating on the task at hand as he awkwardly clambered into the tub._

_The water was chilly but it wouldn’t matter soon, he reasoned, looking down at his ripped clothes with disgust. As the water level rose, he evaluated the blue vein on his arm. Still not knowing exactly why he was doing this, he looked away. Quickly pressing the razor into his skin, he raked it sharply downwards, missing the vein that was supposed to finish him quickly and stopping before the wrist._

_The wound still hurt terribly and Jack cried out, dropping the razor over the side of the bath and immediately regretting his decision as the bright red blood welled up faster than he could have imagined. He slipped down until his feet touched the end of the bath, wondering if he’d pass out and drown whilst trying to put pressure onto his arm and failing to get a grip on anything._

_The next thing he remembered was the bathroom door swinging nearly off its hinges, and a furious Esca lifting him free of his watery trap. He had tried to smile gratefully, his heart practically breaking with shame at being found like this, but he was shivering too violently to have any semblance of control over his muscles. He had been so cold._

Uncle Aquila was a difficult man to shock, but Jack’s tale managed it now, and he sat down abruptly in a chair at the kitchen table as he tried to process the impact this would now have.

“Does Esca know what happened before he found you?” Was all he could think to ask – Marcus had told his Uncle how close they were before, and had called to update him on the situation at the hospital. “Does he realise why the man and his associates will be after you?”

Jack shook his head slowly, and Uncle Aquila gulped, piecing things together.

“So that boy you saw again today, do you think your captor had him on the payroll when he betrayed you, and still might do?”

Jack nodded again, fear returning to him nearly as strongly as it had when he’d surveyed the wrecked office.

“Then I think we’d better make a trip to tell Esca in person...”


	17. Seventeen

They reached their destination in late afternoon, the cabin looking beautiful in the sinking sun. It was set in a grassy clearing, their closest neighbour being a few minutes away on foot, and Esca seemed impressed, which was a good sign.

Marcus bent to retrieve their luggage out of the boot of the car – most of Esca’s belongings were in plastic shop bags for now, but that wouldn’t matter when they were inside, as most of his clothes could be put away in the wardrobe.

As he leaned over, his wounded leg gave a sharp spasm of pain, and Marcus gasped aloud in surprise. He hadn’t given it a second thought since leaving the doctor’s office, and now it seemed to be reminding him in a most cruel manner that he’d been neglecting it.

Esca had been staring at the cabin, and now whipped around in alarm upon hearing Marcus whimper, seeing him clutching the bodywork of the car and struggling to stay upright.

“What’s wrong?!” He asked urgently, rushing to help Marcus stand.

“It’s my wounded leg,” He replied bitterly, ashamed of the other man seeing him in this state. He closed his eyes in an attempt to conceal the pain in them from his friend, but Esca saw through his act in the same way the ex-soldier had once saw through his own.

“Can you walk?” Esca worried.

“Not... not on my own,” Marcus admitted, leaning heavily on Esca’s shoulder, fighting the shooting pains from the site of the wound. He spotted his crutch in the boot of the car and the sight of it made him unreasonably angry, mocking his weakness. He made a face at it, asking Esca instead, “do you think you could help me into the cabin?”

Esca took most of his weight easily without another word, hustling him across the grass, and digging into Marcus’ pocket for the keys. He soon had him settled in one of the cosy armchairs and crouched down, gripping the wounded leg by the knee.

“Is there anything I can do?” He asked anxiously. “Do you have any painkillers to take?”

“In my bag, side pocket,” Esca immediately went to retrieve it. Soon his dancer was back with all the bags from the car, hauling them into the bedroom before emerging with the little bottle.

In a bustling manner that reminded Marcus of an army nurse he’d once been under the care of, Esca administered the tablets before feeling Marcus’ forehead and tucking a blanket around his legs.

“I’m not ill,” Marcus muttered, feeling silly. “It’s just an old pain, I’ll be fine once the meds kick in.”

“What else can I do for you?” Esca asked him instead.

“Nothing,” Marcus insisted. “It’s about time you sat down yourself, instead of looking after me. I just need to rest the leg a while.”

“I can’t rest,” Esca shrugged. “Never had much time for it at the club, and the habit stayed with me. I’ll go and unpack the bags, if you don’t mind?”

“Go ahead. My phone is in there if you want to call Jack at any point. Just ahh... don’t look too closely at my socks?”

“Don’t want me touching your underwear?” Esca asked, amused.

“Oh I don’t care about those,” Marcus waved a hand truthfully, “I’m thinking some of the socks have holes in though,” he laughed, caring less about the holes and concerned instead about the hand gun wrapped up in them. They could have that conversation later, if necessary.

Esca took himself off to the bedroom and unpacked all his plastic bags first, humming songs quietly to himself before turning to the military holdall. It felt like he was taking a new step into his relationship with Marcus as he unzipped the bag, starting first by dipping a hand into the pocket the painkillers had come out of, checking to see if there was anything else in there. His smile turned into a smug grin as he packed away the new, sealed box of condoms he found, figuring Marcus wasn’t quite as intent on ‘taking things slowly’ as previously thought, and being very glad that they were going to be sensible about it.

There was only one more thing in the side pocket – a folded up piece of paper. It was all screwed up, so Esca smoothed it out. He was about to put it on the bedside table without reading it when the header caught his eye – it was a medical document. Esca hesitated about it, knowing he shouldn’t snoop, but inevitably connecting the document in his mind to the wounded soldier sitting in the other room...

Marcus swore and muted the TV programme he had been watching when Esca stormed back into the living area, waving the paper he’d found.

“You’re not okay, are you?!” Esca half-shouted, visibly shaken. Marcus was thrown for a moment – he had expected the dancer to be angry at what he found, even disappointed that Marcus had told a lie about his leg, but not as _upset_ as the man now appeared.

“Surgery, Marcus?” Esca’s own legs failed him and his voice cracked as he fell into the other chair, reaching out to grip Marcus’ hand tightly. “You need surgery. Why didn’t you say anything?”

“For you,” he answered truthfully. “You’d still be at that club if I’d gone into hospital.”

“Well I’m safe now,” Esca glared, “and we passed signs for a hospital on the main road on the way up to this place, so I’m calling them this afternoon to let them know about your referral.”

OOO

Esca had paced around the cabin a few more times to work off his panic, muttering something about _boys_ , before finding the number for the local hospital. Marcus stayed quiet as he made the phone call, pretending not to listen, but secretly pleased when Esca appeared to introduce himself as Marcus’ partner, in a put-on phone accent that sounded nothing like his own.

“You’re booked in for tomorrow,” Esca told him, setting the phone firmly down on the table and raising an eyebrow, looking and sounding like his normal self again.

“Don’t be mad with me,” Marcus pleaded, making puppy dog eyes. Despite himself, Esca chuckled, and came to sit by him again. “I couldn’t help but hear you on the phone. Am I your boyfriend now then?” Marcus asked shyly, holding Esca’s hand with both of his own as a schoolboy blush painted his cheeks.

“If you want me to be,” Esca shrugged nonchalantly, but a grin he couldn’t hide began to highlight his own cheekbones in pink. “Hospital said you’re fine to eat and drink until bedtime tonight, so we’d better have our first date whilst we can.”

“My card and a pizza menu appears to be the best I can do right now,” Marcus told him doubtfully, but Esca seemed as happy with this arrangement as any.

“Fine by me. I’m going to dress up anyway.”

“Not bored of seeing me in a suit yet?” Marcus joked.

“I could never get bored of that,” Esca winked. “I’ll hop in the shower first.”

OOO

This was how they ended up both fully dressed in formal evening wear, sitting on a blanket on the floor of the cabin with a pizza box and a small bottle of wine between them. Music played faintly from the radio on the counter, into which was plugged Marcus’ mp3 player. Marcus could not think of a more perfect first date he’d ever had, and said as much, raising his glass to Esca gratefully for distracting him from the dull ache in his leg.

“What did you do on your other first dates then?” Esca laughed, chinking glasses and taking a careful sip.

“Well,” Marcus began, thinking back, “it was pretty difficult to date in the military. It was frowned upon for one thing, there’s still a degree of institutional homophobia and a lot of men weren’t willing to be caught. Of course, being in a warzone didn’t help.”

“Was it the first time you’d been shot at when you were wounded?” Esca asked in a hushed whisper.

“No, our base came under fire a few times. Never needed to engage in direct combat until another unit of ours didn’t come back at their scheduled time.” Marcus absent-mindedly loosened his tie a little as he spoke. “My commander was mentoring me into a more senior role at this time, so when the chance arose, I begged him to let me lead the search operation myself.”

Marcus gave a wry smile. “If you’d have spoken to my uncle, he would tell this better than I can, and he wasn’t even there.”

“He’s not here now either,” Esca urged, “and I want to hear it from you. Did you find the other unit?”

“In time to interrupt their execution,” Marcus admitted. “It was the most hastily organised plan I’ve ever put together, but we stormed the place, and managed to free most of the hostages.”

“Most?”

“There was one or two lagging behind,” Marcus recalled. “Just boys really, just like Jack. I understand why you went back for him, because I went back for them.”

Esca’s eyes goggled now, never having heard much from Marcus about his time in the army, and he sat up straighter, eager to hear how the story would end.

“The enemy caught me as I was helping the last one out of the crumbling building they were keeping the hostages in. They had no weapons, so I made the boy run ahead of me to cover his back. It was a maze in there and I could feel the insurgents right on our heels. So I stopped.”

“Why?” Esca asked incredulously.

“Both of us could fall or be captured, or just me,” Marcus said evenly. “So I turned to face them, to waylay them to give the kid a chance to get out of there, and caught a bullet in my leg. I’m lucky it wasn’t my head. They must have assumed I’d bleed out, because I fell unconscious, and they left me there. I woke up in the military hospital fifty miles away from the frontline, and I knew my career was over when they handed me civilian clothes to dress in.”

He took Esca’s hand, enjoying its warmth. “For a while at home, I felt useless,” Marcus admitted. “I felt like I’d been given a second chance when I met you.”

Esca smiled tentatively, but Marcus seemed genuinely to be past his disappointment at being discharged, even if he was still suffering its effects now. He kissed Esca’s hand gingerly, hope in his eyes, and the dancer edged closer to him.

“I’m glad you made me your mission,” he whispered, before pressing his lips lightly to the soldier’s. Marcus reciprocated gently, feeling Esca’s other hand slide around his back and hold him there as they lingered over the kiss for a moment, a privilege they had never been lucky enough to experience with so many eyes on them previously. They were alone now, and Esca broke away and moved his lips to Marcus’ ear.

“Let me dance for you,” he whispered.

OOO

Marcus seated himself awkwardly in one of the chairs as Esca went to choose a track, but when the dancer turned around, all doubts Marcus had about his own private lap dance simply vanished; he could have sworn the temperature leapt a few degrees. 

Esca swaggered towards Marcus, taking his time and getting a feel for the music. Marcus obediently parted his knees to let Esca stand between them as per the usual protocol; they could easily have been back in the Eagles club again.

Drawing parallels to the first time Esca had danced for him, Marcus floated his hands up to rest on Esca’s hips, hungrily savouring every inch of his beautiful body. Esca’s own hands settled on Marcus’ collar as he swayed in time to the beat, and he slowly slipped the tie off and twirled it idly between his fingers.

He hooked the tie around Marcus’ back and used it to propel himself forwards, and Marcus took a sharp intake of breath as he found his face perilously close to Esca’s body, certainly much closer than he’d ever been before. He looked up and forgot how to breathe for a moment, the dancer’s gaze meeting his and piercing right to the centre of his heart. One of Esca’s hands found Marcus’ chin, and he held it there as he slowly and deliberately gyrated his hips.

“I wish you had been wearing your uniform,” he purred, and Marcus found himself hard in an instant. A smirk playing about Esca’s lips suggested this had been his intention. Marcus exhaled as Esca relinquished some ground and continue to dance, twisting around to show the rear view, throwing his head backwards and bringing his hands up to knot in his own hair, savouring Marcus’ touch on his hips and encouraging more now his own arms were out of the way.

Marcus admired the position for a long time, trembling on the edge of his seat as his heated blood felt like it was all heading south. Letting the song play out and move onto the next as his dancer pulled out every move in his arsenal to encourage him, Marcus greedily drank in the sight until he could take just watching no more. Heart pounding, Marcus allowed one of his hands to drift upwards and grip Esca’s waist and earned himself a delighted gasp in return. Delicately, Esca shimmied so the hand moved over the slight curve there, enjoying the contact as he turned, Marcus obligingly running his hand across Esca’s perfectly exercised abs to rest on the other side of his waist.

Making sure he had Marcus’ full attention, Esca teased around the top buttons of his shirt as if he were only just remembering he was still wearing it. Marcus shifted his legs to make room in his undergarments as Esca leaned over him, delicious collarbones revealing themselves, and he pulled impatiently at his own buttons to try and undress himself, hoping his partner would read the hint.

Before he could move his hand further from Esca’s waist to explore regions forbidden to him in the club, Esca suddenly knelt before Marcus so they were on the same level. Swiftly he had Marcus’ shirt hanging undone himself, hands slipping inside to caress his hot skin, taking his time to skilfully trace the outline of his torso, one finger just barely brushing a nipple as his tongue darted out flirtatiously, licking his lips. A moan escaped Marcus and he closed his eyes, fiercely clawing at the back of Esca’s shirt to free it, needing to reciprocate the touch after restraining himself for so long.

The dancer shivered into Marcus’ touch as his gentle fingers followed the curve of his spine, and it was his turn to close his eyes, overwhelmed with the sensation shortly before Marcus was urging him up, his knees leaving the floor. In a manoeuvre that he never would have dared attempt in the open booths of the club, Esca straddled him, holding onto the back of the chair with one hand as he unbuttoned the rest of his own shirt with the other before raking it through his hair, wantonly leaning back as his shirt flapped open, revealing his bare chest.

The music changed to another song with a faster beat, but they both barely noticed, Esca following his pounding pulse as his hips shimmied against Marcus’, greedy for his caress. The soldier was only too happy to assist, one hand firmly on the dancer’s back, and the other creeping up his torso, starting with the sexy trail of fine hairs leading down to a place Marcus would give anything to discover later. It was not the first time he’d seen Esca’s bare chest, but it was the first time he’d been allowed to take his time to enjoy it, to touch it, and there was something undeniably exquisite in the way Esca craved his attention.

Marcus brought the dancer up, closer and closer, briefly massaging those beautiful collarbones he would dearly love to worship with kisses, until his hand settled finally on the back of the dancer’s neck and their torsos touched. It was a smooth move, and had Esca not given himself to Marcus so willingly, he would not have attempted what he did next. Tired of just touching now he’d been given free reign of his dancer’s body, Marcus moved his head around so his lips could graze Esca’s neck, aching with the need to taste it. Esca gasped at the pleasure of it. Unashamedly he planted his feet on the floor to get more leverage with which to grind their bodies against each other; evidence that he was just as turned on by their encounter had been present poking up the material below his navel for quite some time.

Finally he reached down to release the button keeping the tip of his erection trapped, and Marcus did the same to himself, before settling back, initiating a challenge to the other man that he’d once been set himself, to see if the dancer would follow him there and take charge. Esca accepted enthusiastically and crushed his lips fiercely against Marcus’, encircling his neck with his arms after passionately stripping off his shirt and throwing it aside.  

Their tongues met almost immediately for the second time, Esca’s sweet breath sighing as he tasted his lover, taking the opportunity to memorise the feel of his arms squeezed tightly around his back and the sensation of their hips riding together as he circled his tongue the same way as his groin, desperately drunk on the freedom of doing this with a man he’d craved for weeks.    

Marcus groaned and Esca, feeling telltale stirrings beneath him, pulled back to murmur, “did you want to take this to the bedroom?”

“Not yet,” Marcus managed to articulate, the decision agonising him and disappointing all regions further south than his brain. Still, he shifted his hips against Esca, clenching a hand into a fist as he fought to control the urge to take the dancer where he sat. “Gods, I want you,” he breathed hotly, the glint in his eyes betraying how close he was to that edge; “but not yet.”

Esca understood, or Marcus thought he did, as he dipped his head to kiss him again. He did not expect, a moment later, to feel Esca’s hand at his groin, dragging his zip open and caressing over the material of his underwear with a single thumb. Esca’s zip was already open, and Marcus found he couldn’t remember when exactly that had happened, but couldn’t be sorry about the hint of an impressive package the next time they explored further.

“I’m not taking it to the bedroom,” Esca grinned deliciously, catching his expression that was torn between surprise and bliss. “You can fuck me later. I’m just taking care of something.”

“It won’t take much,” Marcus revealed in a strangled tone, struggling to maintain the intense eye-contact with Esca as his wicked mouth threw his imagination into overdrive - he needed no reminder of where he was currently being touched. He threw his head back in pleasure, a movement Esca echoed as he drew them both together despite the fabric of their undergarments preventing total skin contact. It didn’t matter to Marcus - all it would take was a few more strokes of Esca’s hand and his skilled body riding him before he would be completely over that edge.

Esca clutched at the back of Marcus’ head and bent to his mouth again, gasping at the pleasure he was giving to them both, and Marcus’ eyes snapped open, eager not to miss any of this erotic display. He was finished just as soon as he saw Esca’s eyelashes fluttering, chest heaving as he bit his own lip a hair’s width from his own. They came just a split-second apart, the dancer collapsing against him, legs trembling too hard to maintain his own balance as Marcus’ body shuddered in ecstasy beneath him.

It took a moment for Marcus to gather his thoughts, and he affectionately cradled Esca against him whilst he waited to let them form, unwilling to let go of his new lover. The night Esca had given him his first lap dance, Marcus had gone home and used his imagination and hand to sate himself. It had been a popular fantasy of his in the following weeks, but he’d have been telling a lie to himself if he’d ever dreamed he’d be able to come as hard as he just had half-clothed.

As he was being held tenderly in Marcus’ arms, Esca was forced to admit to himself the same. It had been a long time since he’d liked or even initiated any such activity with another person that he wasn’t being paid for, and now just his proximity to Marcus made him tremble, still feeling a lingering tingle of pleasure in the ends of his toes.

“Are you cold, lover?” Marcus murmured, feeling the little bumps standing on Esca’s back and reaching for his abandoned shirt, becoming aware of a slight chill in the room.

“A little,” Esca kissed him on the nose and stood up, wincing a little as gravity took effect and holding out his hands to help Marcus up. “Perhaps we should get cleaned up before getting warm?”

Marcus laughed, knowing he’d be wearing the same expression in a moment’s time as he caught hold of Esca’s hands, standing on shaky legs that had nothing to do with his injury.

“I think you already know how to warm me up,” he winked.

OOO

Marcus crawled into bed late after undressing in the bathroom that night so as not to disturb his new lover. After what they had shared that evening there had been no need to discuss sleeping arrangements, but despite sharing a bed to sleep they were still a way off being completely comfortable with each other. Marcus couldn’t bear to let Esca see the scars surgeons would be cutting into tomorrow, barely able to meet his own eyes in the bathroom mirror.

An exhausted Esca had long since turned on his side in the big bed and was breathing the soft sighs of sleep. Instead of slipping down to his own pillows, Marcus tenderly tugged the covers up over Esca’s shoulders before resuming staring aimlessly into the darkness. When daylight came he’d be having surgery on his leg, and not even the memory of his evening’s entertainment could make him forget that.

The brave ex-solider, who’d once willingly put his own life on the line, was slowly facing the fact that the idea of going under the knife to fix his mistake; being embraced by that familiar, unpleasant blackness that threatened to overtake him completely scared him more than anything else.

This time at least he didn’t have to face it alone.


	18. Eighteen

Esca was out of bed before Marcus, showered and fully dressed, and was in the process of making a drink as the soldier dragged himself out of the bathroom later. His whole body ached as if he'd been marching for miles, and it took all his strength to muster even the smallest smile. What few dreams he'd had in between fitful bouts of frightened wakefulness had not served to make him well-rested. Only the sight of Esca's back in the big bed had reassured him, and Marcus had reached out for it once or twice before snatching his fingertips hastily away, not wanting to wake his new lover and scolding himself over having left his hospital referral too long.   

Being an extremely light sleeper, his senses always finely attuned to potential dangers, Esca had heard his whimpers as his pains returned with a vengeance; though of course pretended he'd been soundly asleep the whole night as well.

"No coffee for you I'm afraid," he motioned sympathetically now, and Marcus waved a hand. 

"I suppose it's for the best they'll be knocking me out, at least I'll get some rest," he joked feebly, fooling neither of them.

"I'll be waiting when you wake," Esca reassured him, coming over to take his hands and giving them a squeeze.

OOO

Esca drove slowly to the hospital after seeing Marcus strapped safely into the passenger seat, ignoring any protests about the car. He tried not to see Marcus' pale hand gripping the side handle and wincing at every bump, despite the dancer manoeuvring the vehicle as carefully as if he'd just passed his test. 

"You can just drop me off and come back later then," Marcus garbled as they cruised into the car park, and Esca made a noise of disgust at this proposal. 

"Don't talk such rubbish, I'm coming in with you," he snorted, and that ended any further discussion. As it turned out, Marcus needed his help to get from the car to the door of the unit anyway, once more refusing to use his hated crutch, and hoping that after his (second) recovery, he’d be able to go without it permanently. 

Marcus did not take his hand from the shoulder of patient Esca as he signed himself in, finding it harder to let go of his comforting presence with each passing minute, until a nurse bustling down the corridor forced them to split.

"If your friend will just take a seat to wait here, we'll get you into a gown," she encouraged, lending an arm. 

"Can my boyfriend come in afterwards?" Marcus asked anxiously, as Esca tried to hide a grin at being labelled as a boyfriend, an unfamiliar term applied to himself but one he could grow to relish.  

"Yes, he can stay with you until the anaesthetist arrives, which shouldn't be long." 

Esca stood back contentedly, willing to wait but unable to sit, feeling too full of worried energy to stay put for too long. "I'll be in soon then Marcus," he beamed at the nurse steering him away. "Don't you be falling asleep without letting me give you a kiss," and he winked, wringing his hands behind his back to hide them. 

Marcus hobbled, slow as a child, up the corridor, and Esca took a few deep breaths, itching to pace up and down, knowing he was going to become very familiar with the shiny floor tiles over the next few hours. 

OOO

Outside in the fresh air an hour later, Esca sat heavily on the car’s bonnet and tried to gather his thoughts together, bemused at the weight settling on his chest for his former customer, and supposing it meant his feelings were growing stronger for the ex-soldier. Marcus had gone under easily, after just a peck on the forehead from Esca. The dancer hadn’t been able to articulate his thoughts with an anaesthetist and porter in the room, but it didn’t really matter – they’d spend plenty of time together later.

Esca finally pulled out Marcus’ phone from his pocket, under instructions to call Uncle Aquila and let him know about the surgery whilst it was in progress. The tone rang only twice before a breathless boy answered it.

“Jack?” Esca frowned. “What are you doing answering Uncle Aquila’s phone?”

“He’s driving,” Jack sounded anguished. “We’re on the way to you.”

“What’s happened?” Esca said immediately, slipping off the car and standing up straight. “Has he found you?”

“That boy I told you about... he saw me yesterday. I had a fight with the boss before you took me to hospital, so Uncle Aquila thinks it’s not safe to be around there for a while.”

“Then get here as soon as you can,” Esca instructed, “and we can all stick together.”

“We’re on the way. What did you ring for anyway?” Jack asked now.

“It’s Marcus,” The dancer replied, taking his own turn to reach out for help. “He’s having surgery.”

“On his leg?” The boy guessed. “I thought it was healing?”

“There’s still some shrapnel in there.”

“Oh. When’s his appointment? I’ll tell Uncle Aquila.”

“He’s having the surgery now. I’m phoning from the hospital.”

The noise of disbelief from the other end of the line was nearly deafening; Esca held it away from his ear for a moment.

“Sorry we didn’t say anything before,” Esca said weakly. “Marcus thought it was best that we didn’t worry either of you with it.”

“I suppose we should start telling each other things, after all we’ve been through,” the boy admitted.

“Agreed,” Esca managed a weak smile. “Get here as soon as you can, we’ll figure something out.”

“See you soon.” The boy ended the call, leaving Esca staring at his feet in the car park, feeling like a small man in a bigger game than himself. He checked his watch again. Marcus should be coming out of the operating theatre within the hour, and he wanted to be there when the ex-soldier opened his eyes.

OOO

Jack wisely waited until they pulled into a service station to relay the news, and Uncle Aquila took the news with a shrug, knowing the actions as being typical of Marcus.

“Are we being followed?” Jack asked him now, looking about nervously as they re-fuelled the car. He’d been checking the mirrors periodically himself, and hadn’t noticed if any vehicle in particular was taking an interest in them, but there was a lot of traffic and nothing suspicious had really caught his eye.

“I don’t think so,” the man shook his head. “There’s a lot of cars the same on the roads nowadays. I think we’ll be safe.”

Somewhat reassured, Jack got back inside the car, strapping his seatbelt firmly about himself.

OOO

Marcus’ body felt tired, but it was a different kind of tired to the one he’d felt this morning, he mused as shapes swam into view. His leg ached, but it was a _good_ ache, one that suggested healing wasn’t far along the line.

Esca’s anxious face was peeping around the door, and Marcus struggled a hand upright, fighting off the drugged sleep he’d been put under.

“You can let him in,” he croaked, and the nurse beckoned the dancer in as she adjusted the equipment, taking Marcus’ statistics now he was awake and scribbling on some charts.

“I don’t have to take your heart rate as well, do I?” She joked, as the anxious man came to grip Marcus’ hand firmly. She flipped the folder shut and put it on the table at the end of the bed.

“How long until I can leave?” Marcus asked. If anyone had to bustle around him, he wanted it to be his new lover, who had more than proved he could take care of him already.

“Here’s the man who can tell you,” the nurse indicated to the doorway, where a tall surgeon in a pristine white coat had just entered.

“Excellent news, Mr Aquila,” he boomed, taking the folder and nodding happily at the readings the nurse had taken. “After the little setback before, we’ve tidied up your leg and you’re well on the way to making a full recovery.”

Esca breathed the biggest sigh of relief of both of them, and Marcus knew he’d been through hell whilst waiting outside.

“No more crutch?” Marcus asked hopefully.

“No more crutch,” the surgeon agreed. “You’ll need bed rest for a few days to give you the best chance, and after that we can discuss some physiotherapy.”

“Can I have bed rest at home?” Marcus hinted, turning his wide eyes onto Esca, who fought an urge to reach out and ruffle his hair.

“I don’t see why not, but you mustn’t engage in anything strenuous,” the surgeon warned him.

“That won’t be a problem.” Esca answered for him, and Marcus hid a wry smile.

“Get him the necessary papers then,” the surgeon asked the nurse, and they all cleared out of the room.

“How was the wait?” Marcus asked him.

“Horrible.” Esca seated himself on the side of the bed and dropped a kiss on the end of his nose. “Don’t ever do that to me again.”

“I’ll try my best,” Marcus chuckled. He squeezed Esca’s hand. “Now are you going to take me home?”

OOO

Having been forced to spend the night in a motorway hotel when the distance was looking too great to finish in one day, both Jack and Uncle Aquila were tired and slow the next morning as they finished the rest of their journey.

Jack gazed out of the window without really taking anything in as the car bumped onto the site where Marcus had rented the cabin.

“Nice and quiet up here,” Uncle Aquila commented, and Jack nodded agreeably. No-one would spot them around here, providing at least some temporary respite from running.

As the car rolled forwards through the trees, a big executive car swung onto the track behind them, advancing rapidly. Uncle Aquila frowned in the rear-view mirror and barely had time to exclaim before it smashed right into the back of theirs, bringing them both to an abrupt halt.

Jack’s seatbelt jerked to stop his body sliding forwards and his heart began to beat rapidly as Uncle Aquila swore and opened his door to get out.

“Wait!” Jack choked, realising their predicament as a shadow crept round in the corner of his eye, but his warning came just a little too late. A hand reached in through the open door and violently forced Uncle Aquila’s face forwards onto the dashboard, knocking him out with the impact.

“No!” Jack sobbed, bringing up his feet to fight off the assailant as he wrestled to get his belt free – the thing had locked in place with the impact of the crash.

His door opened and he was dragged free of his seatbelt even as he tried to slither out of the grasp of his captor, shouting out loud as he did so. The cabin was just down the track, there was a chance someone would hear him...

“Scream again and I will kill you,” a harsh voice hissed, holding him tight and stilling his flailing arms and legs. He was forced to his feet by the car, the boss’ arm firmly around his neck, cutting off a little of his air and making him believe the threat was real.

Jack caught sight of his attacker’s face as he was marched forwards and was pleased to see his brow was swollen and bruised, with some telltale stickers covering the stitches he’d obviously had to get after Jack had hit him with the eagle on the cane. There was no sign of the cane now, but a cold metal pressed into the boy’s side felt suspiciously like a knife, and he was afraid to fight lest the blade be pushed into his soft flesh. He might have wanted to die before, but he had no intention of doing so now.

“You’re going to take me to Esca, and then we’ll see if I can let you live,” the boss told him calmly, nudging the boy forwards down the track. He took small steps, gathering his thoughts carefully. Esca had once made a plan, now it was his own turn, and he needed the perfect opportunity to present itself if any of them were to make it out of this alive...


	19. Nineteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Additional warnings apply for this chapter.

The carpet was starting to look worn from Esca’s constant pacing between the front window of the cabin and the bedroom where Marcus lay in bed, propped up by pillows. The ex-soldier was trying his best to concentrate on a book, but his eyes snapped up to meet Esca’s every time his lover passed the door, pretending not to be checking on him.

“I’m not healed yet,” he said jokingly, finally abandoning the book on the bedside table, an amused crinkle appearing round his tired eyes, “if that’s what you were waiting for.”

“Can I get you anything else then?” Esca motioned at the drink he’d already brought in, looking tired himself, not having had much sleep, being careful to listen to any sound Marcus made and judge if he was in pain.

“Away with you, and make yourself one,” Marcus shook his head, and Esca sighed, defeated. He blew Marcus a kiss before going to busy himself in the kitchen, checking the phone to see if he’d had any more messages from either Jack or Uncle Aquila. He absent-mindedly carried the mug with him over to the window again, anxious for any sign of his imminent guests.

His eyes caught something as they scanned the tree line across the clearing in front of the cabin, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood immediately on end as he recognised the figures and swore loudly out loud. The handle of the mug slipped from his grasp as he pressed his hands and face closer to the window, and Esca barely even heard it shatter.

OOO

The boy took careful steps, hardly able to form thoughts, let alone speak with the boss’ vile arm around his neck, keeping him trapped. He was helplessly reminded of his father’s waving arms as he identified the alcohol smell that seemed to cling to the boss’ suit and wrinkled his nose in disgust. They emerged from the tree line and Jack paused for a moment, reluctant to continue and deliver his friend into the boss’ clutches as well.

A sharp point in the small of his back soon solved his dilemma, and he tripped over his feet as he tried to make one step in front of the other. He briefly caught a silhouette standing at the window and cursed their bad luck – Esca was inside – but the sight of his strong friend bolstered his own courage.

“Not got backup today?” Jack squirmed, hoping to divert his captor’s attention from the window.

“I’m going to handle this one personally,” the man spat, bringing his lips close to his ear. “I know he’s in there, so be a good little hostage now.” He attempted to move his arm to cover Jack’s mouth with his hand, but the boy refused to hold his head still, breaking free momentarily and shouting,

“ESCA, DON’T COME OUTSIDE!”

It was a brave decision that might have proved fatal had the boss moved a little more quickly, and Jack found his head snapped tightly back, the knife edge at his throat now instead of his back. He gulped as the boss forced him down, onto his knees, facing the cabin. Jack scrabbled for a hold on the ground and found two tufts of grass in his clenched fists, sending a silent prayer to anything that may be listening as he summoned up all the courage he had for this final battle.

OOO

Marcus had taken up his book again, but tossed it aside once more as he heard the tinkling of breaking crockery, sitting up straighter in bed.

“Esca, is everything alright?” He called.

“Just a mug,” Esca shouted back. “Stay where you are.”

Marcus frowned, the tone of voice suggesting that it very much wasn’t just a mug, craning to see through the doorway at what had the dancer so transfixed. He couldn’t quite see the window from his position, and put an arm out to steady himself rather than attempt to get out of bed, heeding his surgeon’s words about bed rest as his leg gave a warning twinge.

“Stay in bed Marcus,” Esca warned as his hand settled on the front door handle, taking a deep breath as he tried to stop himself shaking, knowing that his past had caught up to him yet again and vowing to face it. “I’ve just got to take care of something.”

OOO

Esca stepped out slowly, making sure the boss could see him as he raised his hands. The kid was on the ground, looking utterly furious as he shouted across the distance, “you should have stayed inside!”

“You’ve got me,” Esca shrugged, ignoring the young man for the moment and concentrating on the boss. “You can let the boy go; I don’t think anyone needs to get hurt here.”

“It’s a bit late for that,” the man replied icily, waving the knife threateningly as he indicated his brow and the stitches on it.

_That’s my boy_ , Esca thought, raising his eyebrows in an impressed manner at the damage he’d done, but also gathering it was the least the man deserved from what he knew to have happened later.

“You two belong to me,” the man barked, sounding more delusional by the minute, “and I don’t let go of my lost property easily!” He brandished the blade forwards and Esca tensed; it seemed the boy had as well because a split second later, he was springing from the ground to tackle their captor.

Unfortunately, the man saw it coming and didn’t take the full blow, lashing out as Jack staggered into him and knocking the kid back. Jack caught hold of the fist holding the knife and struggled to keep it away from himself as the boss drove all his power into stabbing it towards him. Inch by inch he was forced to give ground, settling for twisting the hand around instead so the sharp end pointed towards the sky.

Jack’s strength snapped and the boss backhanded him across the jaw hard; the boy gasped with the force of it, spots dancing in his eyes momentarily as he willed himself to stay conscious, a detail that would easily be the difference between life and death against the weapon and the madman wielding it.

It all happened in seconds, but Esca was unable to stand watching any violence against the boy he’d worked so hard to protect and he pounced into the fray himself, grabbing at the boss’ hair to draw attention back to himself, the offensive stench of alcohol blooming into his nostrils as he moved in closer.

Roaring, the man threw him off, but Esca’s poorly planned diversion worked and he turned fully to face his first slave.

“Get back now, Jack,” Esca ordered, circling around the somewhat ragged man preparing a defensive stance with the blade. “If he wants me, he can fight me little a _real_ man.”

Still in shock, desperately clawing at his own nose to see if it was broken from the blow, the boy complied, edging away from the immediate danger zone and dropping to a crawl as his legs failed him, his brain following as he tried to decide which way he should run when he could.

“I shall look forwards to this, Esca,” the boss spread his hands in surprise, licking his lips. “You were always feisty when you danced for me, and I don’t think I need to mention the things you did off the stage.”He grinned savagely, showing too many teeth in a shark-like manner.

“Bastard, y _ou_ don’t use my name,” Esca snarled back. “You might have had _Alexander_ , but you only had him because you paid him.” He readied himself, rocking backwards and forwards on the balls of his toes; a dancer’s preparation.

They met messily, Esca directly aiming for the knife hand and kicking it away with a nimble foot; the boss swore and instinctively dropped the blade as his hand was crushed by the dancer’s shoe. The small but strong man did not stop there, determinedly pummelling his opponent down to size and ripping away his expensive suit jacket to try and strengthen the impact of his beatings.

OOO

Marcus was having a battle of his own internally as he gripped his covers in anguish. He’d heard the shouts from outside and would have given anything to see what was happening out there, sensing that Esca absolutely needed his help with whatever it was and feeling utterly useless that he was unable to provide it.

He stretched to see out of the side window and clenched his fists as he saw a slight young man edging up the grass on his backside, sporting a bloody nose with his attention fixed on something out of view. Marcus had seen the boy only a handful of times but was familiar with the terror on his face, giving him the answer he sought but not the means to solve it.

Marcus slammed his arms into the duvet in frustration, wishing he had something useful close to hand; his phone or perhaps even a weapon...

His eyes fell on his abandoned holdall and he stopped pummelling the mattress, instead taking a hold of his covers and throwing them aside. He looked down at his trussed-up legs, wound in bandage with heavy dressings over his fresh wound, and hissed at them “fuck it.”

He rolled and collapsed gracefully rather than landed at the side of the bed, his legs protesting at the sudden activity. He’d had a wheelchair at the hospital to transfer him from ward to car, and a willing Esca to carry him in back at home, but he had nothing to hand now, not even his hated crutch, so it was with sheer willpower that he dragged himself forwards to his holdall.

He located his bulky socks easily in one corner, loading the pistol as easily as he might have blinked despite all the months passed when he hadn’t even touched it. Propped on his elbows, he relaxed his lower half and commando crawled easily to the bedroom door, mentally totting up the score in his head. One or more insurgents with at least two, possibly three civilians at risk.

He snapped back to the present at the sight of the dining table and chairs, broken pieces of the mug Esca had dropped littering the carpet by the window. Conceding that Esca most certainly wasn’t just a hostage at the hands of a captor and meant far more to him than a statistic, Marcus forced himself upright to take a look outside. He felt the weight of the gun in his hand and wondered what the hell he was doing with it even as the military instinct in him wished for the bulk of a rifle instead.

In near agony as his adrenaline over-rode the medication suppressing his pain, he hobbled to the door after seeing Esca grappling fiercely with his former boss through the window, determined to save him.

OOO

A punch to the torso served to make Esca only angrier as they fought like children in a schoolyard, all finesse lost as they kicked and punched, pulled hair and slapped each other, each desperately trying to gain the upper hand and force the other to the ground. Esca had seen, _felt_ what the boss could do with his terrible fists before, but this time punishment would go beyond a simple beating and they both knew it.

Esca clutched his belly, winded by the blow, but biting down hard on the hand gripping his shoulder that was holding him in place as his opponent raised another fist to punch. His captor roared and slapped instinctively, catching his ring on Esca’s lip and snapping his head sideways.

The dancer lunged for him in retaliation, tackling him around the middle as he tasted blood, and they both met the grass hard, the boss’ weight giving him the advantage as they wrestled. He got one of Esca’s arms pinned and attempted to flatten his slave to the ground; Esca countered with the only tactic he currently had, spitting fiercely into the man’s face, the blood from his split lip painting an impressive spray.

Rearing up and releasing his pinned hand but not quite letting Esca’s legs out from under him, the boss scrambled around, temporarily blinded as he tried to catch hold of one of his flailing limbs again. He didn’t find his slave’s body but the fallen knife instead as he wiped the blood and fluid from his eyes, seizing his chance with it.  

Esca’s body jerked, half of his mind telling him to roll clear even as the other half threw up his hands to protect his face. He heard the blade whip down and felt it stop just short of his ribs. Defeated and not ready to die, he let his arms fall, the boss straddling him in triumph. He touched the point of the knife to the most vulnerable spot on Esca’s chest, grinning menacingly again now he had the situation under control and his slave at his mercy...

OOO

“NO!” Marcus screamed, legs wavering precariously as he staggered out into the grass clearing. The kid had seen him coming and had been spurred into action by his appearance, finding his feet to tear into the forest in search of help as Marcus gave him the nod to do so.

Carefully, Marcus brought the pistol up. He had the full attention of both parties left - Esca looked as if he could have wept in relief, but a flicker of fear gave away his true feelings.

“Get off him,” Marcus instructed, loudly and clearly, the rest of his body quivering but his arms and hands rock-steady. The boss started to raise the knife tip off of Esca’s body uncertainly as if he were having difficulty recognising Marcus.

“Esca’s favourite customer,” he breathed finally as Esca squirmed beneath him, betraying his importance. The boss exclaimed at Esca, “you’re with him willingly?!”

“That’s right,” the dancer couldn’t help but quip, “he doesn’t have to pay for it, because...”

“He’s _mine_ ,” Marcus finished dangerously. It was the wrong thing to say to a man with a knife who appeared to have nothing left to lose, for he suddenly raised the blade above his head with both hands, eyes glittering as his victory melted away from him.

Marcus didn’t hesitate, aiming and firing in one fluid movement, shooting the blade out of the boss’ hands, the twisted metal sticking harmlessly in the grass some way away. As the boss swayed from the shock of the retorting boom that was echoing through the trees, and Esca also tried to get his bearings, Marcus staggered over the rest of the distance and forcibly knocked the boss off his lover.

The man scrambled in the grass helplessly and Marcus followed him, knocking any half-attempted blows away easily, livid that this man had tried to kill Esca in some attempt to take him away from both of them. Esca himself was now on his hands and knees, hand over his heart as he made sure it hadn’t been punctured.

Finally Marcus fell down on top of the boss, dominating him in exactly the same manner as he’d just been demonstrating, and decided the best place for his gun was to tuck it under the chin of the man, freezing him exactly how he wanted him, head back and completely vulnerable.

“Are you all right, lover?” Marcus called kindly to the dancer, who was still rubbing his chest.

“I think so,” he gasped, reassured that the only blood on him was coming from his lip. “Jack and your Uncle? Are they safe?”

“Right here!” The boy announced thickly, blood from his nose just clotting as he rushed to Esca, landing next to him and gathering him into a tight embrace. Uncle Aquila wasn’t far behind the kid, holding onto a tree for support as he shook his head to try to clear it from the fuzziness it still held.

Marcus trembled as he held the weapon, hearing a rhythmic chopping sound in the distance, punctuated by an approaching siren. He looked to Esca and Jack, huddled together on the ground, both looking worse for wear after their brave encounter with their former captor, but watching him back with steady glances.

“Help is on the way,” Uncle Aquila confirmed unnecessarily, leaving it at that.

“So what am I doing, Esca?” Marcus asked, crystal clear about what he was _prepared_ to do, looking into his hostage’s eyes to confirm it with himself.

Esca was lost for words, and Jack’s narrowing eyes told all about his opinion, but neither wished anything out loud.

“Hand him over, with his connections perhaps he’ll get a couple of years inside at most,” Marcus mused, shrugging as he reasoned it out. “We’re safe until we get the news of his release, and perhaps he holds a grudge after being a prisoner himself.”

He tensed his fingers, looking to the pair once more, and catching his Uncle hovering in his eyeline too. “Or I could finish this now.”

The boss looked utterly helpless between Marcus’ knees, and the silence in the clearing stretched on, punctuated only by the noise of the approaching authorities. The whir of the rotor blades on the chopper beat in time with Marcus’ heart, counting down as precious seconds were ticking away.

His eyes fell on the pulse in the boss’ straining neck, and Marcus made his own decision.

Determinedly, the soldier forced the barrel of the gun deeper under the other man’s chin, and pulled the trigger.


	20. Twenty

Esca’s mouth was dry, all the moisture having found its way to his sweating palms. He found himself shaking his leg slightly, and a firm hand from his right pushed his knee gently back downwards. He attempted to smile at Jack, in the seat next to him, but the boy looked as nervous as himself and his grin yanked up the corners of his mouth without really reaching his eyes. On Esca’s other side, Uncle Aquila almost imperceptibly reached for him too, lending strength.

When the order was given, they all rose; Marcus was coming up into the stand off to one side, and even through the glass separating it from the rest of the room, clinking could be heard. Jack’s frown mirrored Esca’s, but all soon became clear when the guard pushing Marcus’ wheelchair moved into view. Hundreds of keys and a long chain hung from his belt, but there was no chain connected to Marcus.

“Don’t wave,” Esca muttered through gritted teeth as the soldier made eye contact. “Don’t wave.”

Marcus’ hand twitched, but at the last minute he remembered and pretended he was adjusting his shirt sleeves instead. His head snapped to the front of the court when the usher spoke, where the judge was entering and taking his position.

“Be seated,” the usher announced, and the judge nodded his head at a woman sitting close by, who poised her hands over the keyboard in front of her.

“Please state your name for the record,” he looked expectantly at Marcus, who cleared his throat before enunciating clearly.

“Marcus Flavius Aquila.”

“Good. I presume you know why you are here this afternoon, Mr Aquila?”

“This is my sentencing hearing.”

“That is correct...” The judge glanced down at the papers in front of him. “I can see you have been on bail under medical grounds since the verdict was delivered last week. A most unusual trial, with long-reaching implications, if I remember correctly from the files I have read?”

He shuffled his papers whilst Marcus struggled to remember if this was in the script he’d practiced, looking quickly over at his lawyer for help. The woman held a low hand to the table and shook her head slightly.

“Tell me, Mr Aquila,” the judge continued, “are the men you were protecting on that evening here with you today?”

Esca, who had been looking at the typist and marvelling over how fast her fingers were flying over the keys, abruptly snapped his eyes forward again, frozen to the spot. He felt Jack’s hand worm into his own and grip it tightly.

“Yes they are, your honour,” Marcus turned to glow at Esca, his fondness evident to anyone who may have been looking at his face. “Both of them are here with my uncle.”

He may have been used to having plenty of eyes on him, but Esca truly wished at that moment for the ground to rise up and claim him, as everyone took a moment to evaluate him. Somehow, their stares seemed more piercing than any of the other men who had previously undressed him with their eyes, and he self-consciously thought he’d made a good call on wearing a suit.

“Well your reasons for protecting them were covered in your trial,” the judge took up again, when he’d had his own fill of the unusual trio in the gallery, “so I am here purely to make a judgement call on the consequences.”

A small titter could be heard from the typist at the pun, and she cleared her throat loudly and doubled her speed to compensate.

“The fact remains,” the judge said, looking stern, “that you are a fully-trained soldier in one of the most rigorously-tested military forces in the world. Your body alone is a weapon.”

“Objection, your honour,” Marcus’ lawyer protested, standing up and puffing herself to her full height, helped by the heels on her shoes. “My client was honourably discharged from the military months before the incident you are sentencing him for took place, and as you can see is still under medical supervision to make a full recovery.”

“Sustained,” the judge admitted, weighing up his hands. “I was merely making the observation that Mr Aquila is rather different to other defendants that have passed through these halls.”

His lawyer took a seat again, but remained on the edge of it, a stance echoed by Esca, feeling rather like he was being held down by the men either side of him.

The judge took a moment to scan his files again, before glancing at the gallery again in what could have been pure coincidence.

 “I can see you are an honourable man,” he addressed Marcus. “You have a spotless record. In this file in front of me there are copies of dozens of letters, some from your peers and superiors in the military, others from civilians expressing their most profound gratitude for your involvement in an operation that brought their friends and family back. They all paint a most impressive recommendation.”

At this, Marcus raised his eyebrows in surprise – he knew there had been letters about his good character used in his defence at his trial, but had not heard of the content of some of them. To hear that more good had come from his past sacrifice brought a tear to his eye, and he choked back his emotions forcefully.

“Thank you sir... your honour,” he corrected hurriedly.

The judge now wrung his hands before folding them in front of himself.

“In line with the law, I _must_ hand you a custodial sentence, Mr Aquila,” he sounded apologetic, banging his fists down on the table, “but I may be able to make allowances for your current condition.”

Esca sucked in a great breath and heard Uncle Aquila doing the same.  

“We’re here for you,” Jack whispered from his other side, earning himself a dirty look from the court usher who had exceptional hearing. “Whatever happens.”

“Marcus Flavius Aquila,” the judge summed up, “I sentence you to three years custody; two months of which will be served immediately under house arrest. This is to allow you to recuperate in line with your medical requirements. The remainder of the time I can suspend for a further twelve months. You will also be required to undertake some community work, I think one hundred hours will suffice.”

_What does that mean?!_ Esca screamed in his head, but caught Marcus’ lawyer making a firm thumbs-up sign behind her back, a gesture obviously intended for himself as she leaped to her feet, nodding her head and looking very pleased.

“What this means, Mr Aquila,” the judge explained, “is that when you leave the court today, a team will accompany you to your home and place an electronic tag on your ankle. You must remain enclosed within the boundaries of your property for the eight weeks I have suggested. If you comply with this, the tag will be removed, and you must visit your parole officers at regular intervals for a further twelve months. If you show up when requested and have managed to keep your record clear of further offences, the remainder of your sentenced time will be written off. Do you understand?”

“Yes, your honour, thank you.” Marcus nodded gratefully.

“Then the parole team will be waiting for you downstairs. Court is now adjourned.”

Esca stood on shaky legs, beaming all over his face at Marcus’ lawyer who was making a beeline for them as Marcus was taken out the way he’d come in.

“Fantastic news,” she gushed at the trio, “that’s the best verdict I could have hoped for.”

“So if I understand this correctly,” Esca checked, “if Marcus keeps his nose clean, he’ll be free in two months, and completely unsupervised after a year?”

“That’s right,” the lawyer confirmed. “I was worried the judge would come down hard on the military angle, but those letters of recommendation really went a long way. Which reminds me...” She fished around in her own briefcase for a moment, before bringing out a file and handing it to a surprised Jack.

“This landed on my desk for you this morning,” she informed him. “Some interesting proposals in there, you may call me if you need help with any of it.”

She snapped her briefcase closed and shouldered the strap, once more brisk and businesslike again. “I trust you’ll be helping keep Marcus’ record polished, Esca?”

“That will not be a problem,” he answered confidently. “I’m just glad to have my boyfriend back.”

OOO

**_6 months later_ **

“Working hard, lover?” Marcus sidled over to Esca’s desk, where the ex-dancer was deeply immersed in some paperwork.

“It can wait now you’re back,” the man grinned, eyes twinkling with suggestion. He leaned up for a kiss that Marcus was only too pleased to provide, sealing his lips over those offered to him and lingering over them as he pressed a hand firmly to Esca’s back.

“Your leg seems better after your appointment,” Esca remarked when they broke away, caressing it gently. “Not too hard on you any more, is it?”

“No, my physio said today that there’s no lasting damage,” Marcus smiled. “Now I just need to make sure my gym instructor takes it easy with me as well.”

Esca laughed, indicating the papers he’d been working on. “I think my other clients hope for the same,” and he jumped up to steal another peck, landing it on Marcus’ nose. “The new house has plenty of room for a good set of equipment in that big back room, so soon I’ll be able to run sessions there instead of the gym taking a cut, and I’ll have more money to spoil you with!”

“I’m glad you’ve got your priorities after the mortgage all figured out,” Marcus cradled his face tenderly, giving him a cheeky wink. “I always knew you were intelligent.”

“Good job we found a good house close to your Uncle,” Esca shrugged. “He’s invited us over to celebrate this afternoon, I think the adoption paperwork went through today.”

“Do we have time to have our own celebration first?” Marcus proposed, wiggling one eyebrow suggestively.

“Oh, I think that can be arranged,” Esca smirked.

OOO

The glasses chinked and a little champagne slopped out of Jack’s onto his shirt cuff, he raised it to his lips eagerly to taste it before it could seep in.

“Careful there, _son_ ,” Uncle Aquila emphasised, and Jack’s grin back was unmistakably genuine.

“I suppose this makes us cousins now Marcus?” He said happily, pushing back his sleeves to keep them clear of the liquid without even thinking about it. His forearm showed only a pink line that would soon fade and blend with the rest of his skin tone.

“Technically, I suppose it does,” Marcus replied, bemused, and Uncle Aquila roared with laughter at his nephew.

“Our Marcus got more than he bargained for when he let me lead him astray this time last year!”

“Well, it led to a good brother, and an even better lover,” he shrugged, resting his arms around both of them, “so I’m happy.”

“I’ve got some more news as well,” Jack now said shyly, landing his glass on the table and slipping out of Marcus’ embrace to quickly run inside and fetch a letter. The envelope was now dog-eared as he’d been carrying it around all day, constantly taking it out to read again and make sure it was real.

Esca reached for it first and scanned it quickly. “You got into...”

“Art school,” Jack sounded excited. “They awarded me the scholarship I applied for months ago, fully funded. I can start in the autumn.”

Esca couldn’t resist giving the kid’s hair a ruffle at the good news. “You deserve it,” he said genuinely, fiercely glad the boy was putting the dreadful days of the club and his abuse at the hands of their captor behind him. He himself hadn’t given it a thought for months, concentrating on building a new life and all the good things in it; a new house with Marcus now he was free of his electronic jewellery, his lover healing whilst he set up his own business as a personal trainer to support them, Jack being adopted by Uncle Aquila and now the kid getting his own happy ending too.

Marcus had made the right decision after all, even if he’d had to face punishment for it.

His lover’s hand somehow found his now, almost as if he could read exactly what was on Esca’s mind and was worried. Esca gave it a reassuring squeeze to show there was nothing to be concerned about and beamed round at everyone.

Their unusual little family was going to be just fine.  

**Author's Note:**

> My unending gratitude goes to everyone who has given this fic a chance, have enjoyed it, and have clicked that kudos button, whether you’ve been following it for the twenty weeks it took to post all of it or just popped in now at the conclusion.  
> Special mentions must go to the loyal friends(?) who have been present for the whole ride and have consistently commented on my chapters: marcus_aquila, feliongfan, Nimue_8, christyimnotred and fififolle, thank you to you all. The Eagle fandom is so small and without your support, I might never have finished this story.


End file.
